Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kald.

A country with a population of 50,000. A country carved out of snow-capped mountains so tall they disappear into silver lined clouds, and smoothed by plains of rolling grassland where sky-high sunflowers shine brighter than the sun. A country where windmills turn slowly on meadows where the heady scent of lavender fills the lungs of any living creature nearby. A country that changes colours dramatically from the cherry blossom pink of spring, to the mossy greens of summer, to the warm reds and yellows of autumn and to the milky-white blankets of snow in winter. A country home to lakes of water so crystal clear they give birth to a hundred prismatic tints of colour under the sparkling light filtered by the heavy green canopy of primeval forest trees. A country where the clouds roll in low every morning, swathing hillside villages in soft white before dissipating under warm mid-day sunshine. A country rich in folklore and lost-tales of ancient times passed down from generation to generation. A country with tastes in food so diverse that there is a dish to stimulate every corner and portion of the tongue and mouth. 

At least, that’s what Felipe tells them during the train journey.

When they arrive in Kald, it is the dead of night, and very, very cold. There is no moon and the sky is pitch dark. Large oil lanterns swing from the hands of shadowy figures who wait by the end of the tunnel where the train has stopped. The six of them alight from the engine room and are greeted by at least a dozen figures, their faces too blurry to properly see in the muted light.

“Welcome,” A thin man steps forward, only slightly taller than Annie herself. He raises his lantern and his features come into view. Salt and pepper hair, kindly eyes and a pleasant smile. “My name is Pekka Heikkinen, Chancellor of Kald. You must be Commander Arlert.”

“Yes, and thank you.” Armin says, his voice tired. “Thank you for providing refuge, Chancellor. We are truly glad to be here.”

“Likewise, we are honoured to have you here,” Chancellor Heikkinen bows his head deeply. “I hope your journey was smooth?”

“It was,” Armin nods. “But very long.”

“Yes, of course,” The older man nods quickly in understanding. “And so I suggest we postpone introductions until after you are all well rested.”

Annie feels the relieved slump of Armin’s shoulders beside her. “Yes, that would be good.”

“Excellent, excellent,” What Annie can see of the Chancellor’s face forms a pleased smile. “Now then, let us show you to your quarters. Please, follow me.”

“And the other refugees?”

“Not to worry, my secretary will show them to their settlement.” He turns his head and nods at another figure hidden in the dark that Annie can’t make out. “Now then, please.” 

The ten minute drive to their quarters is quiet save for Connie’s poorly muffled yawns and Pieck’s chattering teeth. Reiner and Jean are huddled together, arms tightly wrapped around themselves. Annie herself is warmer than the others, thanks to the thicker material of her hoodie and she leans into Armin - whose shaky breath comes out in white puffs - to share her body heat and he welcomes her gratefully. If the others notice, they don’t say anything. With the stress needed to survive in Fort Salta no longer required, fatigue and exhaustion have crashed into their bodies and the only thing keeping them from falling unconscious right then and there is the promise of a hot bath, hot food and hot beds. 

The rest of what happens is very blurry. She remembers eating. She remembers the climb to a second floor and into what her exhausted brain decides is her room. She remembers getting into a very hot bathtub and washing herself clean with actual soap. She remembers opening a cupboard where she had been told some clothes had been prepared for them. She remembers pulling on a too-large shirt and too-loose pants and climbing into a soft bed with soft blankets and very quickly falling asleep. 

The next time she wakes up, it is from extreme hunger and with heavy limbs and bleary eyes, she stumbles downstairs to what appears to be the kitchen. Connie’s there, barely awake, shovelling a large plate of something that looks like long, yellow ribbon-like strings into his mouth. He nods sleepily at her and gets her a plateful too. It is dark outside and she barely registers what the kitchen looks like, except for the fact that it is warmly lit by a large overhead lamp.

“What is this?” Annie mumbles, sleepy eyes and hungry stomach fighting a vicious battle inside her.

“I don’t know,” Connie says between mouthfuls. “But it’s really good.” 

“What ab-about-” A yawn escapes her mouth. “The others?”

“They’re all still asleep. But I think Armin and Reiner woke up this morning for breakfast.”

“Oh.”

And their conversation ends there. They eat in drowsy, comfortable silence, the only sounds being those of the forks clinking against the plates and the gulp of water down their throats. Whatever this food is, Annie does agree it’s delicious, but when her head hits her pillow once again, she forgets everything.

And that is how they spend the first three days in Kald. Sleeping for the most part, woken up only by the cries of their stomachs and wails of their bladders. Time no longer makes any sense, nor does it matter. Sometimes it is dark outside, sometimes it's bright. Once or twice she eats alone in the kitchen, a few other times with Pieck or Reiner or Jean. Eyes puffy, hair unkempt, and bedraggled in mismatched and ill-fitting clothes - none of them converse much, only sharing piping hot meals that are always on the dining table before going back to sleep. 

When she wakes up a little after sundown on the third evening, she finds Armin in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water. There's nobody else. When he notices her, he offers her a sleepy smile. 

"Everyone else just ate I think. Pieck woke me up. She knocked on your door, but you didn't respond."

"I think I heard it, but…" She shrugs.

"Mhmm." He lifts the lid off a large saucepan and frowns, blinking slowly. "I think it's a… well I don't know what this is." 

Annie rounds the table and peers into it. A deep red broth with floating vegetables and more long strings, except this time they aren't yellow, but a pale white.

"Doesn't matter," She says, pulling out two bowls from a shelf. "As long as it's edible. I'm too hungry to care." 

"True." Armin hums, serving them both heapfuls of the strange strings and pouring plenty of the broth and vegetables over it. Once again, it turns out to be delicious - tangy, a little spicy and full of other flavours she’s too groggy to comprehend - and Annie's stomach is grateful. They eat in a silence only punctured for persistent yawning. Somehow in her sleepy daze, she notices his dishevelled appearance - he’s wearing a dark blue shirt that’s a little too loose on him, grey trousers and his hair is sticking out in angles from heavy sleep - and it feels nice. She feels at home. 

When they finish, Armin mumbles something about washing their dishes and Annie grumbles in response. It's only because it's Armin that she relents and stays back to help - had it been anyone else, she would've left them there to go back to her bed - and they get it done. He says something about not wanting the housekeeper to be burdened with the dishes too, on top of all the cooking, and Annie agrees with a tired nod. He washes, she dries and they put them away together. She wants to sleep more, but it's nice, standing next to him like this by the sink, doing something as harmless as washing bowls and spoons. 

When they trudge up the stairs with full stomachs, sleepier than ever, she takes his hand in hers and with a warm smile, he tugs her closer. She glances down at their feet, climbing the steps in tandem with each other, his right foot and her left foot together, making the floorboards creak. She yawns loudly and that sets him off into a big yawn of his own. 

The boys have their rooms on the first floor while the girls occupy the second floor, so when he walks with her all the way across the boys' corridor and to the foot of the stairs to the second floor, she gives him a questioning look. 

"Wanted to spend some more time with you." Armin chuckles bashfully. 

And it warms Annie’s heart so much that she climbs two steps and kisses him. 

He responds immediately, pulling her against him and slanting his head deeply to kiss her better. It is sleepy, lazy, uncoordinated - but it still sets off sparks inside her body. Her hands tug on his neck and he climbs the two steps she's on to press her against the wall and lick her bottom lip. With a tongue set on fire, she eagerly invites him in, but when another yawn slips past her mouth into his, he smiles against her lips and pulls away with a chaste peck on her nose. 

"You should go back to sleep," he murmurs, stepping back down. "Goodnight, Annie."

"Goodnight." She says, disappointed with her tiredness and watches him cross the corridor and disappear into his room. 

Annie lies awake in bed and her eyes have been blinking at the ceiling for an hour now. It’s four in the morning and sleep has left her system entirely. She’s tried tossing and turning and even visited the bathroom, but to no avail, she can’t fall asleep anymore. 

With a sigh, her legs swing over the side of the bed and she stands up. The floor is cold  even under her socks and she shivers. The window is shut tight so she pulls the curtains open and unlocking the glass pane, sticks her head out. 

Freezing cold air hits her squarely in the face but she doesn’t move, letting a breeze blow through her hair. This house seems to be on the side of a sloping hill, she notes, her eyes following a trail of small street lights along a spiralling path moving away and downwards. The rest of the view is dark so she closes the window and decides to take a walk.

Opening the small wooden cupboard, she studies the clothes hanging inside. The night they had arrived, she had chucked her hoodie and pants somewhere in the bathroom before taking a bath, but she hadn’t seen them since. In front of her, hanging neatly on wooden hangers are several moderately thick flannel shirts and some pairs of trousers and she doesn’t have to take them out to know they’re all too big for her, just like the shirt she’s wearing. Anyway, she has no other option. She pulls out two shirts and layers them over herself and steps into a thicker pair of trousers, rolling up the ankles. 

Annie closes the door to her room and softly pads across the corridor. Pieck’s room next to hers is quiet and still dark. She descends the stairwell to the first floor and crosses the boys rooms. Reiner’s room is dark but noisy - he’s snoring like a wild animal - and she clicks her tongue. There’s light snoring and a flush of the toilet from the next two rooms - Jean’s and Connie’s. Armin’s room at the very end is silent and she pauses for a second too long in front of his door before she descends the next stairwell.

The house is too dark to explore and Annie doesn’t want to knock into things and wake everybody up. She crosses the kitchen and a sitting room before finding the main entrance where she stops. She has no shoes. Her boots - where are her boots? Oh, but she has to go through the trouble of lacing them up so she abandons her search when she spots several pairs of slippers by a shoe cabinet. Slipping her socked feet into a pair, she unlocks the door and heads out. 

Oh it’s cold. It’s so cold, and Annie wraps her arms around herself as she steps over the threshold of the garden bordering their quarters. There’s a cobblestone pathway curving downwards into a gentle slope and she almost loses her balance, still groggy from several days of sleep. Steadying herself on the closest stone wall, she slowly begins her morning walk. 

There are wooden houses on either side, neat and clean and picturesque, decorated with hanging plants and trimmed trees and bushes. Some of them are dimly lit within and she supposes the inhabitants have just woken up and, as if to confirm, wispy smoke begins to rise from chimneys. Every inch of land without a structure is densely packed with trees and flowers of all shapes and sizes. The satisfying slap of her slippers against the stone path accompanies her walk and soon, the houses give way to quaint looking shops; none of them are open, but their colourful banners flutter in the mild breeze. Here, glass wind chimes sway and tinkle pleasantly from the low branches of trees that line either side of the street. The storefronts are pebbled and tidy and Annie slows her pace to squint at the signs. Several are grocers, if the drawings of fruits and vegetables on the banners are anything to go by. An array of shops that sell clothes, judging from the mannequins behind locked glass windows. A hatter, with a large straw hat above the storefront serving as a sunshade. Some coffee shops, she guesses, with small tables and chairs by the entryways. A shoemaker - this must be Felipe’s family business store. And then her nose picks up the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread and she halts. Bakeries. Lots of them. 

Her last dose of sugar had been the pie on Paradis. Annie wonders what kind of sweets these bakeries sell. There are posters stuck on the walls but she can't understand any of them. Oh well. Maybe she'll come back later when they’re open and find out. 

A little further down and once crowded buildings grow farther and farther apart, just as the dense shrubbery gives way to a vast and soft expanse of grass, and soon it becomes clear why. She hears the gentle ripple of water before seeing it - a beautiful, clear lake stretching far and wide into the darkness. Dense fog obscures her view of the sky above her, but she just about makes out the enormous dark shadow of a great landmass on the other side of the lake - mountains. 

And by the foot of those mountains - several brightly lit cottages. The settlements. Her father. Pieck's father. Reiner's mother. Muller. Everyone from Fort Salta. 

The biting cold nipping at her exposed neck causes her to turn on her heel and begin the slow climb back up to their quarters. She'll come back when it's brighter and go see her father, but for now, she really wants to be in a warmer place. The climb is exhausting and when she reaches the hedge bordering the house, she pauses to look at the dark scenery below - the crisp, fresh air fills her lungs with the realisation that she's alive, in this breathtakingly beautiful village. 

When she returns, the house is as quiet as it was when she left. A glance at the clock in the sitting room tells her it’s a little over 4:30 a.m. She crosses into the homely kitchen where a basket of fruits catches her eye - her stomach growls - so she picks up a knife and three apples and climbs the stairs back to her room. 

Lost in thought, she’s surprised to find herself idling outside Armin's room, listening to nothing but silence. He must be a very quiet sleeper because she hasn't heard him snore even once during their three days here. Her hand rests on the doorknob.

Should she? Should she not? She shouldn't. She should. She should. He had an unfair advantage over her - he had seen her with her eyes closed for four whole years and then watched her sleep on plenty of occasions on Fort Salta, while she had only watched him sleep once - she should. 

The door creaks open and when she steps in, the first thing she notices is how much warmer it is compared to her own. It doesn't really make sense, but her flustered heart - as it always is, whenever Armin is the sole subject of her thoughts - accepts that it's because he is warm, he makes people feel warm and everywhere he goes becomes warm.

She closes the door behind her. It's so dark in here, she can't see anything except a large lump on the bed - and when her eyes adjust to the lack of light, it becomes clear why the lump is so big - there are two blankets on top of him. 

But in this darkness, she’s virtually blind - her mission is as good as failed. Without a sound, she rounds the bed to the dresser and strikes a match to light a stumpy candle. It fills the room with a dim glow and it's not as bright as she’d hoped, but it's enough for what she wants to do. The knife and three apples are put down on the dresser and she turns. 

There he is, fast asleep, but all she can see is a tousled head of gold, some forehead and half an eyebrow - everything else is concealed under the blankets and out of her sight - and she frowns. This won’t do. Kneeling by the side of the bed on the floor and regarding the sleeping bundle before her, she wonders if she can pull the blankets away from his face, just enough so she can see. Surely, it won’t wake him up?

So she does, and she does it carefully. By one fingertip, the blankets begin their descent. The bridge of his nose climbs in a gentle upward curve - he's sleeping on his left. Eyelids closed in deep sleep, fringed with a set of dark blond eyelashes. They look longer than hers, she thinks. Boyish cheeks and cheekbones, one set sunk so deep into the pillow she can't see. Now the tip of his nose, and she bites back a smile - it's always, always, a little red. A little further and the cupid's bow of his lips makes its appearance. The blanket falls away from his face and she sighs. His lips are parted and Annie finds her gaze lingering on them longer than necessary. She still remembers what it felt like for the first time, to intrude into that gap between his lips and into the space beyond. 

Arms crossed on the edge of the mattress, cheek against her forearm - she watches him sleep deeply and peacefully. Four years. Four years he had spent tortured in the agony of talking and talking to a mute crystal rock. It must have been nightmarish, she imagines, to live without the knowledge of when, if at all, someone would wake up. The twinge of guilt in her heart is soothed only by the selfish personal relief and reassurance she finds in the realisation that she’s staring at his closed eyelids with the full knowledge that they will flutter open in a few hours when the sun rises. She’s lucky. She’s the luckiest girl in the world.

What’s left of the world will never cease to talk about the carnage that will now forever be etched into the blood-soaked pages of history - but at the end of it all, she still has him, safe and sound. 

Unbridled happiness wells up inside her and a smile breaks through the stoic surface of her face. 

She spends what seems to her like an eternity, lost in the invisible waves of air that enter and leave his nostrils, several thoughts in her mind that take long, meandering paths with unexpected turns - when her reverie is broken by the insistent and urgent growl of her stomach. Sighing, she picks up an apple and the knife and cuts it into large cubes, twisting away from the bedside to lean against the dresser and popping them into her mouth one by one. The apple is sweet and it melts on her tongue. The candle flickers and long shadows dance across the walls and ceiling. Annie eats in contentment. This is nice. This is better than her room which is far too big for her, in which she has to sleep alone - and she’s spent far too much time alone - and he is a comforting presence even if asleep. 

But apparently, she’s miscalculated the effectiveness of her stealth because a rumble of quiet laughter erupts from the bundle of blankets and she jumps out of her skin. 

“S-sorry,” Says the sleeping figure which is no longer sleeping and Annie stares at him, unblinking. Armin’s sleepy grin and groggy morning voice adds more warmth to her skin. “I wanted to be very quiet but I couldn’t help it. You really like to stuff your cheeks.”

Annie colours in mortification. As if being seen after four years with pie packed into her cheeks hadn’t been enough embarrassment, now he had to see her cramming apples into her mouth. Again. But he isn’t mocking her; if anything, the smile on his face is full of love and adoration. 

“I woke you up,” She mutters, swallowing her mouthful. “Sorry.” 

“No, no,” He shakes his head. “It was such a nice way to wake up - to you.” Annie looks away, unsure of how to deal with his compliments. It will probably take her a very long time to get used to it. “But why are you up so early?” He questions, squinting at the bedside clock. “It’s not even five.”

“I was awake in bed,” She wipes her lips, sitting up straighter. “And then I went out for a walk.”

Armin blinks. “At this time?”

Annie nods. “Yeah. But it’s very cold out. And when I came back… I–I don’t know, I just…” She trails off. What? Wanted to watch you sleep like a creep? 

Rustling sheets and the creaking of the bed draw her attention back to him and she swallows nervously - he’s lifting the blankets open and patting the space next to him. “What?”

“Come here," he bows his head in a beckon. "Isn't the floor cold? And-" His drowsy blue eyes study her bulky outline in amusement. "You can take off all the ten layers you're wearing."

"Three," Annie corrects him and he laughs, rubbing his eyes. 

"Alright, three. These blankets are warm." He pats the space again, looking at her expectantly. 

Taking off her extra clothes isn't as simple a task as he makes it sound - and both of them are bright red in the face by the time she unbuttons the first shirt and drops it to the floor. She’s not even getting naked, but her fingers take far too long to unbutton the second shirt  and it only gets worse when the cold hits her like a blizzard. Annie avoids his bashful stare when she pulls loose the strings of the extra trousers and they pool around her ankles. Now she’s left dressed in her last layer of a thin shirt and pants and because it’s too cold to keep standing, she awkwardly climbs into the bed where he pretends to not have stared at her efforts to undress this whole time. 

Under the sheets, a new wave of embarrassment washes over them. They are so close. Armin tugs the blankets up to their chins and adjusts the pillow so she has more of it than him. If Annie points her feet forward, they'll touch his, and she's sure there's only less than 15 centimetres of space between their bodies. In the incandescent glow of the candle, his eyes, puffy with sleep, stare into hers, and her eyes, wide awake, stare back. 

“It’s warm,” Annie murmurs, quickly losing herself in his soft blue eyes. 

“It’s hot,” He responds, staring at her lips. 

The collar of his dark blue shirt sticks out under the blankets and with a sudden urge to touch it, Annie finds her fingers reaching out to him. He watches her face as she tugs his collar out, pushing the blankets down to their shoulders in the process. 

"Annie?" He whispers, half of the syllables lost in a quiet breath. "Can I… hold you?"

Annie chews the inside of her lip before nodding against the pillow. "Yeah."

The blankets slip further down when his shoulder shifts, arm extending to place his hot palm over the dip of her waist and she blinks rapidly. The thin shirt does nothing to reduce the heat his fingertips press into her skin. His palm comes to lay flat before his fingers splay out wide and when his little finger catches beneath her shirt and brushes against bare skin, Annie sucks in a sharp breath.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't m-mean-" Armin panics, pulling away, but she stops him with a hand around his wrist. 

"Can you… keep it there?" She asks, breathless. 

His eyes are wide open, all signs of sleep long gone, and they drop to her parted lips before meeting her eyes again. "Are you sure?"

"Mhmm." 

She notices his nervous swallow before he settles his palm on her waist again, except this time, his fingers push her shirt up and slide slowly against her skin. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp - his fingertips are burning fire into her skin and he watches her with enraptured eyes. 

"Are you sensitive here?" He questions softly. His fingers don't move and she's thankful for it because just the sensation of his skin directly on hers is so strong, she's having trouble breathing evenly. "I noticed it earlier too, you seem to like it when I… touch you here.” The pads of his fingers dig gently into her waist as if to emphasise where, and Annie almost jolts her body forward in shock.

“I-” She’s trying not to squirm. “Yes, I– Yes.” Armin’s eyes keenly study her every reaction and the steady burn of his gaze over her face causes new heat to pool into her stomach. 

If she doesn’t have something to focus on, she’ll combust. His hand isn’t moving - and while she’s grateful for it, it also frustrates her. Her eyes focus on the first button of his shirt - that will have to do - so she pushes forward, raising her trembling fingers to his shirt collars, and focuses on bringing her breathing back to normal with undoing and redoing the first button.

She doesn’t look at him, keeping her gaze resolutely fixed on the round metal slipping into the hole and out of it. Buttoning - inhale. Unbuttoning - exhale. Until right above the button, she sees his throat bob and her attention is drawn away from the rhythmic work of her fingers and to the expanse of skin of his neck. 

“Y-you’re going to tear the button out, like that,” Armin’s light chuckle is drenched with nerves. His fingers flutter ever so slightly against the skin of her waist and she draws another sharp inhale. 

“I need something to focus on,” Annie replies in an embarrassed whisper. “I… I can’t breathe.”

“Neither can I. Your skin is so… soft.” Without warning, his thumb strokes a languid circle very close to her navel and Annie’s back arches forward with a whimper ripped from her throat. But of course, this brings her even closer to him and it’s a split-second too late when she realises her chest, waist, hips and thighs are pressed up against him. 

“A-ah, Annie-!” She raises her eyes to look at his face and – what a sight. His jaws are clenched, eyes shut tight and his ragged breathing fills the minimal space between their lips. They’re so close that if she leaned forward just an inch, she could kiss him. Their legs tangle together and when he opens his eyes, blue and wide and swimming with desire, she urgently pops off the second button of his shirt and smooths the neckline open. His collarbones come into view and she can see the beginning of the defined curve of his chest line. 

“Wait-” Armin calls again but the wild thoughts flying around in her head drown him out - her momentarily distracted attention is pinpointing toward the fact that all of her is pressed up against all of him. 

His body is hard. Gone is that frail boy from her older memories. She can feel the planes and ridges of lean muscle definition under his loose shirt. Oh he had filled out, and far more than what she had imagined - and it feels so good against her. So good, that fireworks begin to set off inside every part of her that’s touching him. She shifts against him slightly and draws a strangled groan from his open mouth. He looks pained, exhaling hot air against her forehead where it bathes her in a wave of goosebumps. 

“C-Can I… touch you?” She asks in a low voice. 

Armin bites his lip, eyebrows slanted with the prospect of what he has coming. “Yeah.”

Annie props herself up on her elbow and he rolls onto his back. Shivers wrack her spine as he maintains his firm hold around her waist, digging gentle grooves into her skin. Her other hand presses against the hot skin of his neck and Armin’s breath hitches. She can feel his pulse racing under the heel of her palm. She then slides her hand further beneath his shirt, along the top of his firm and broad shoulders. His skin is smooth and deliciously sensitive, if his erratic breathing is anything to go by. But there's something that's really caught her attention and her head dips.

His Adam's apple. She presses a feather light kiss on it and watches him tilt his head back into the pillow. Blowing on it makes him inhale a shaky breath. A harder kiss rewards her with a rough sigh and punishes her with a quaking spine where his palm slides up with delicious pressure. And finally, what she's wanted to do for a long time - a scrape of her teeth against the delectable protrusion - and the rumble of pleasure in his throat travels down her body and to the junction between her legs. She sighs against his neck in ecstasy when his other hand threads through her hair and combs away the curtain it has formed around her face.

Annie moves down and along the side of his neck. She remembers how his lips felt against her neck back on Fort Salta and attempts to imitate what he did. Heated, open mouthed kisses pepper his skin and the breathy call of her name falling from his lips registers at a place between her legs she's thought of more than once in the last three weeks. His skin is so hot, but she’ll burn him before he burns her. She presses herself further against him, chest to chest, waist to waist, hips to hips and almost loses her balance from how good the friction feels. 

Armin's fingers in her hair are gentle but also carry an insistent weight when he tugs at it slowly - twice - and tries to shift his hips away from hers. "Ah… A–Annie wait -"

But she's too focused on his collarbones. She didn't have a chance to see it properly back in his tent. Annie doesn't waste any time - her lips press lazy kisses along the lengths and dips and grooves they create, nudging open the unbuttoned collar of his shirt aside with her nose and chin. His fingers climb up under her shirt to between her shoulder blades - she’s not even wearing a bra - and she whimpers against his chest with an achingly pleasurable curve of her body into his own. His fingers have no business making her body react like this. So she nibbles on the bump on this throat in retaliation. 

"A-annie," He struggles to sound normal. "No fair," a pained half-laugh. "I didn't bite your neck you know…"

Annie pauses to look at him. He meets her gaze with heavy lidded eyes and harsh breaths escaping from the gap between his lips. His cheeks are dusted a violent red and the flush creeps down his neck with each rise and fall of his chest. 

"You can bite mine too," She finds herself whispering against his lips - and notes him freeze. "If you want."

When she pulls away further, he's wearing a frown, lips pursed, tongue poking a bump in his cheek in consideration of her words. Her confidence wanes. 

"S-sorry," She retracts, pushing her weight on her elbow again. "Maybe you don't want to-" 

"I do," He murmurs and his firm undertone makes Annie's stomach flip in anticipation. "But do you want me to?" He asks her, albeit a little nervously. 

Does she? Isn't the answer clear? And he seems to realise as much, when, the next thing she knows, her elbow gives and her back squarely meets the soft mattress. Her heart hammers away at her chest when she catches a glimpse of his blue eyes, dark and fervid with desire. Elbow propping him up, he leans down and trails a line with the tip of his nose from her temple to her ear and she can't help but squirm. The hand on her back disappears, only to cradle the side of her head when he decides to pepper butterfly kisses along her forehead and down to her jaw. Annie whines under his caresses, rubbing her thighs together - he's not pressed against her anymore, and she hates it. Her fingers find purchase around his shoulders and she tries to pull him against her again, but he carefully keeps his body away from her. 

"At least kiss me," she mutters in annoyance and feels his lips form a smile against her ear.

"Impatient?" His low whisper washes into her ear and Annie’s heart skips several beats. He kisses the shell of her ear and she twists her head to try and kiss him but he pulls away with a chuckle that makes her skin tingle in anticipation. Annie bites her tongue to contain her excited nerves - is this how it will be? If she teases him enough, will he return it with twice the passion? 

"You know," Armin's breath is hot under her ear and she’s this close to snapping at his torturously slow touches. "I've been wondering about something for a while now."

"What?" She asks, her annoyance forgotten when the hand cradling her head retracts to press a fingertip against the hinge of her jaw. Her lips fall open when it drags a pressurised path down to the pulse point in her neck. 

"You told me you're not ticklish," His voice is soft. Her eyelids feel hot and they fall closed. 

"I'm not," She breathes. 

"Then why-" The finger travels further down her jugular and her neck lifts off the pillow. "Do you shiver so much when I touch… here?" It presses into the base of her neck and her body proves him right, shivering feverishly under his ministrations. 

She isn't going to make this hard for him, not when she’s dying to have his weight pressing her into the bed and his lips between hers. So she lifts her chin to meet his intense blue eyes and cups his jaws, bringing his face closer. 

"... Because your fingers feel good." The needy admission ghosting on his lips pulls a satisfied grin out of him and Annie finds that it only makes her feel even hotter all over. "Kiss me." she urges, tugging his face down. 

"Where?" He raises his eyebrows innocently. 

"Quit teasing," She glowers despite her embarrassment. 

"Oh, but you teased me just a few minutes ago?" Armin looks like he's enjoying himself and she watches him with a racing heartbeat. He looks so good, with the candlelight highlighting his still-red cheeks and his hair falling over his eyes. 

"I'm not as slow as you," She complains and he nods solemnly. 

"Well that's because-" and Annie's spine arches off the bed when he slides his hand once again under her shirt to squeeze around her waist, and this time, his thumb presses into her rib-cage. "I discover things about you when I take my time," Her hands grab fistfuls of his shirt behind his back. "Like where you're sensitive…" His nose brushes the side of her neck and she gasps.

"And right now-" He blows on her throat. "I'm going to discover something new."

And like that, his teeth are dragging down her neck. Her hips shoot off the bed, heels digging into the sheets and toes curling. The golden crown of his head brushes her cheek and she cradles it between shaking hands, breathing whimpers of pleasure into his hair.

"A-armin…"

"Hmm?" He hums from a gentle kiss at the base of her throat before another nibble at her neck. 

The soft and hard sensations of his lips and teeth make Annie dizzy and delirious; incoherent whispers and whines pour from her mouth. Locks of his hair thread between her restless fingers and her body won't stop squirming in the electricity sparking every nerve ending inside her. And then, he kisses downwards from under her ear to the junction where her neck meets her shoulder and a particularly hot firework explodes in her lower belly.  

"O-oh!" She cries out. 

He pauses. 

"Here?" His murmur fanning her skin sets off more fireworks behind her eyes.

"Y-ye-s," Annie stammers. She doesn't have to say more because he's back there, kissing, sucking and nipping at that delicious spot that's making Annie see stars behind her closed eyelids. It's too much, it's way too much, she needs to feel his weight on her again - so she throws a leg over his waist and yanks him down against her - and they both freeze.

Oh.

So that's why he…

She tilts her chin down. His pants are loose and it’s dark so she can't see anything but it's there. Pressed up against her inner thigh. Hard… very hard. And, she gulps down a set of nerves, he's… much bigger than she had imagined. 

Armin isn't breathing above her. Blue eyes blinking wildly, his jaws are clenching and unclenching. The arm bracing himself over her is trembling. When her eyes meet his, he closes them and exhales shaky, heavy breaths through his lips. 

"Y-yeah, that's why I told you to wait," His light laugh is forced. "I, uh…"

Annie's brain is short circuiting with just a single thought repeating in rapid fire. 

"You want me." She whispers, wide eyes transfixed on his face. 

His heavy breathing slows and his voice is soft and gentle. "Of course I want you, Annie."

She reaches a hand up to touch his cheeks and he turns his head slightly to kiss the inside of her palm. 

"I… I want you too." She stammers. The space where he's pressed against her, there, it's beginning to go up in flames, and a certain other place is starting to pool wet. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and groans under his breath. "I-I know. But… we can't, right now."

Her body goes cold from the unexpected rejection. "What? Why?"

"Uhm," Armin chuckles nervously, extricating himself from the vice grip of her leg - and she’s too shocked to stop him - and collapses on his back next to her. "I'm not uh– ready."

Annie cocks her head, thoroughly confused. "What? You said-" She rolls over on her side to face him. "You said, that after a bath and eating food that we can- I mean-"

"I did say that," He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "But I don't remember what kind of washing up I did, I was so tired and-"

"You're worried about that? " She stares at him incredulously. "That you're not squeaky clean?"

He turns his head to meet her baffled expression, looking nervous and apologetic. "I don't want to be unpleasant for you Annie."

She scoffs, still staring at him with wide eyes. "I don't remember how I washed up either, you know."

Armin laughs, shaking his head at her. "No, you're fine." 

Annie glares. "You're doing it again, putting yourself down! I told you not to do that."

He blinks. "Uh, I don't think so-"

"Okay then, how about this?" She huffs in exasperation. "We both need to have a squeaky clean bath. That way we're both putting in equal effort. And maybe then you'll be ready."

"Okay," he whispers, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “I’m sorry. Are you disappointed?”

Her scowl softens a little. Yes, but also… no. He’s putting so much consideration into this while she’s sure most others wouldn’t have cared. She thought she didn’t care either, but when she really thinks about it, the whole act is quite… intimidating to picture. It does sound nice to be a little prepared before… well. With a faint blush, she shakes her head no and he looks relieved.

Satisfied despite the disappointment, she scoots close to him and he extends his arm under her neck, and she rests her head on his shoulder. He's staring up at the dancing shadows on the ceiling and she watches the profile of his face curiously. 

"Is that it though?" She asks. "Having a proper bath?" 

"Yeah. And… well, a few other things." 

"Like what?" She pokes a finger into his cheek and he suddenly seems very uncomfortable.

"Actually it's nothing, just the bath." Armin's trying hard not to panic and she can tell. 

"You just said 'a few other things'," Annie raises her eyebrows. "What are they?" 

"Annie, I-"

"Hmmm," She squints at him. "Maybe I should just do this again…" She brushes her thigh against his and makes to straddle him when Armin yelps, clamps down on her knee and gently keeps her away from the tent in his pants. 

"Okay! Okay, just don't do th-that, right now, please-" 

"Then tell me." She smiles at his terrified expression in victory. 

"Uh… well I have to trim my nails… and some other things," Armin mumbles, avoiding her scrutinising eyes.

It takes her a minute before the implications of his words strike her.

Butterflies explode inside her body and she has to furiously bite down on her cheeks to keep her composure. Armin was thinking of more things than she had even expected, and a part of her isn't even surprised. He had always been this way, a strategic tactician, and here he was, putting it to use even in the bedroom.

But he's so much more flustered than her and his bright red face makes her want to tease him to hell and back.

"Why?" Annie tries to mask the growing smile in her voice. 

"I think– well, I just need to." 

"Hmmm," She hums and raises their entwined hands over their heads. Spreading their closed fists open, she studies his slender fingers threading alongside her own. "Your fingers are long. Is there something… you have to use them for?"

She grins into his shoulder when he pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment and groans in dismay. "What exactly are you thinking of doing," Annie whispers into his ear. "Ar–min?" 

And he shuts her up with a firm kiss which she can't help but giggle into. 

"Stop teasing me," he mutters, frowning when he pulls away. 

"Oh? But you teased me just a few minutes ago?" She retorts defiantly and he exhales in defeat. 

"We have to talk about something else or I'm going to find this very very painful." He mutters with scarlet cheeks, rubbing his nose. 

"Alright," Annie relents. It's painful for her too, if she pays attention to her screaming thighs and the wetness between them. She drops their outstretched hands on his chest where he squeezes her fingers and lays still, relishing in the caress of his other hand on her hair. "Want to know what I saw on my walk?"

"Please," His tense shoulders relax under her head and she laughs quietly. 

"Well, firstly it was very dark. I think the people here wake up very early, because a few chimneys were already smoking, and I could smell food cooking," She pauses to stretch her legs and notices that he's listening attentively to her. "I saw some shops. Many grocers, a few clothing shops, some odd shops like shoemakers and hatters and a few, uh," She stalls, knowing full well he's going to tease her if she actually says it. "Shops."

His curiosity is piqued at once and she curses under her breath. “What shops?”

“Just some shops,” She shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know, I couldn’t see properly.”

“Oh?” She can almost feel the playful smile in his voice. “So you saw the grocer and the clothing store and the shoemaker and the hatters and then just some… shops?”

Annie begins to squirm away from him and he bursts into laughter, quickly grabbing her waist to prevent her escape. “Oh no no, you’re not running away now.” 

“Stop laughing,” She hisses but it makes him laugh harder, only quieting down when she settles on turning her back to him. 

“I’m sorry,” He doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. Annie huffs, arms folded on herself. “But, by any chance, do those shops sell sweet bread and cakes?”

She’s quiet and decides to remain so - but loses the fight when she feels him hug her from behind, wrapping his arms around her middle. His nose buries in her hair. “Or maybe… doughnuts and pie?” 

“If you’re going to make fun of me-,” She begins, annoyed, but Armin shakes his head, kissing the side of her head.

“Never, Annie,” She can’t see his eyes, but the sincerity in his voice makes up for it. “I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

They fall quiet for a few seconds before she speaks. “Remember the sugar buns we got to eat before we joined the regiments?” 

He smiles against her hair. “Mhmm.”

“Did you ever get them again? After… you know, after I…”

His head shakes. “No. Those were the last times.”

“Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence before he asks. “Do you miss them?”

Does she miss them? She does. In the end, the bloody mission she had been sent on proved to be some of the best years of her life. She missed the barracks, the silly camaraderie, the rigorous training, the food, the occasional sweets, even the cook-off between Sasha and Jean… and everyone on the 104th.

“Yeah.”

“Want to visit the bakeries this evening?” His question takes her by surprise and she twists to look back at his face. 

“You want to go?” His smile is relaxed and affectionate. 

“Yeah,” She nods, unable to hide a smile of her own and he looks delighted, pecking her fondly on the corner of her lips.

“Okay, actually, we can all go,” Armin decides. “If the others are feeling better by today, we should meet the Chancellor in the morning. Then we can go and look around the village the rest of the day.”

“Sounds good,” She smiles into another sweet kiss and he grins ecstatically. And then she notices the thin line of rose-gold bisecting his face in half. 

“Oh, looks like the sun is coming up,” He says, eyes cast to the front where a chink in the curtains glows a soft pink. 

“Want to watch the sunrise?” She offers, turning away from him to glance at the growing light outside the window. “It’s the sort of thing you like.”

“I do like it,” He admits with a boyish grin and pats her shoulder as he sits up. “Okay, come on.”

The minute the blankets leave her body, the icy air chills her bones - but she doesn’t have to feel cold for long. Armin draws the curtains aside and pushes the glass window open and then beckons to her, holding the blankets around him open. Annie crosses over and slips inside. With a deep and contented sigh, he crosses his arms - and the blankets - around her middle and they feel the freezing morning breeze blow into their faces and hair. 

“This is nice,” He murmurs, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

The village stretches out below them and Annie finds herself proven right - they are on the top of a hill. Mist hangs low in the atmosphere and the cobblestone pathway cuts through the side of the sloping hill in gentle spirals and turns, decorated with colourful trees and shrubbery throughout. The shops and storefronts Annie saw in the darkness are bright and noisy and the miniature figures of people waking up for daily life in Kald flit across the grey pavements. Unintelligible calls of greetings and good morning wishes are carried to her in staccato bursts of sound. Far away in the distance, the dull silhouette of several snow-capped mountains floats into view intermittently through the dense fog. 

“It looks stunning," Armin says. “I can’t wait to go see all of it.”

She smiles, her hands covering his beneath the blankets. 

“I’m glad we’re here.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Armin notices about the Chancellor’s modest, but tastefully furnished office, is the abundance of plants. Hanging, creeping, and climbing everywhere possible, the ones in actual pots seem to be the odd-ones out. Some have flowers, some just leaves, some don’t seem to have either… or maybe they do and he just can’t tell – he’s never seen many of these plants. Perhaps they’re unique to Kald, or the other option, they never grew on Paradis. 

Kald’s coat of arms flutters gently on the national flag hoisted against the wall behind his table and Armin goes to study it – a wreath of flowers and what appears to be a star in the middle. Interesting. He would have to find out what it stands for and also study Kald’s history. Politics is already proving to be a hard territory to wade through but he has to learn. For his friends, for Paradis, for a chance at peace.

He turns back to the others who are sitting around the couch, sipping cups of coffee. They hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, voting instead to finish up meeting with the Chancellor first. More correctly, he had proposed the idea because he was so full of nerves that he didn’t think he could eat. Him? Sitting down with the head of a country to discuss the future of a rumbled world? Armin wonders when or if he will ever feel better about the title he now bears. 

His eyes rest on Annie who barely drinks the coffee and he wonders if it’s because it’s not sweet – there's a little disgusted twitch on her lips, and he hides a smile. She had tasted like apples earlier this morning.

This morning. Less than four hours ago, she had silently crept into his room, examined his face, crunched on apples and then climbed into his bed and driven him crazy. His fingertips still tingle with the feel of her skin and her soft sighs still echo in his ears. He thought he suffered at Fort Salta. No. He’s suffering now and all because he's now blessed with the gift of a room with a door that could be actually locked and a bed which was already beginning to crease with the shape of her body on it. Armin gives a start when Annie raises a questioning eyebrow at him and he realises she’s caught him staring.

If the faint pink on her cheeks and the way her eyes sweep over his form is anything to go by – she’s thinking of the exact same thing and he has to turn away with a furious blush. 

Think about something else! He scolds himself. Look at the flag! Look at the books!

Less than four hours ago, he had rolled out of bed with her in his arms, covered in the same blankets.  

Look at the blotting paper! Look at–

The door bursts open and Chancellor Pekka Heikkinen bustles inside with profuse apologies spilling from his mouth. 

“I’m so very sorry for being late, my wife had some trouble in the garden and I had to help her.” He extends his hand and Armin steps forward to shake it firmly. “Have you all been waiting long?”

“Not long,” Armin replies, taking a seat back on the couch where the Chancellor gestures. “We’re sorry it took us this long to meet you, it’s been three days already.”

“Not at all, not at all!” The Chancellor is all smiles. “You must have been so very exhausted. I met the refugees beyond Lake Brienne yesterday and they told me of all the hard work you all put in at Fort Salta – and all that after the battle itself! They called you the Heroes of Peace.”

Armin drops his gaze to the polished coffee table. “They may call us that, but we are not heroes, Chancellor. We are war criminals and murderers, that is what we truly are.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air above them. Knowing it was one thing, saying it out loud was another, and Armin said it to himself every morning. The Chancellor takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Commander Arlert, what do you think of Kald?”

The question takes him by surprise, but he manages to answer after a beat. “It’s a very beautiful country, from what little I have seen of it since we arrived.”

The Chancellor smiles and throws his next question at Connie. “Mr. Springer, Hanna - your housekeeper and cook - has been telling me that she can never find any leftovers after a meal. What do you think of the food?”

Connie swallows, looking away. “It’s… it’s very good. I… I’ve never eaten food this delicious in all my life.”

“I’m glad it's to your liking." He sits up and takes another deep breath before continuing. "Now as you get to know Kald, you will also find that the people are wonderful."

"I think we've seen quite enough evidence of that already," Jean says. "The hospitality speaks volumes, Chancellor."

"That makes me very happy, Mr. Kirstein," He nods with a smile. "Kald is also rich in history, culture and the way of her people. We have natural wonders here from a time before man even came to exist. We have some architectural marvels and some truly delightful festivals that continue throughout the seasons - you may even witness one in a few months. But I have a question for all of you.

"Do you think any of this would still exist if you hadn't stopped the Rumbling?" 

Silence. 

No, no it wouldn't, Armin thinks. Kald too, would've been erased from existence forever. But still-

"I'm not saying you’re innocent. But you have also saved what is left of the world. You are Heroes, to the people who survived on Fort Salta. And you are Heroes to the people of Kald."

Still, nobody speaks and the ticking of the clock echoes loudly off the walls. 

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" 

"Yes," Armin nods quietly but the Chancellor probably sees that he needs more convincing so he continues. 

"My wife is an avid gardener and she has a lovely garden at home. There's nothing she doesn't grow there. It has been her pride and joy for more than twenty years. When we heard that the Rumbling had started and that the Global Allied Fleet failed to stop it, do you know what I did?"

They all look at him and the Chancellor closes his eyes with a sad smile. 

"I went home to my wife. I told her what was about to happen to us. I was crying but she was not. She told me, 'Pekka, we should go to the garden,' and that's what we did. I sat with her there, where we watched butterflies and birds flit between the flowers she had grown so carefully. In a few moments, Kald was going to be flattened, we were about to be crushed to death and the garden would no longer exist. But it was peaceful there and it was how we decided to spend our final moments."

He rubs the inner corner of his eyes quickly and laughs. 

"But this morning I woke up and got dressed to meet you all, and I was late because my wife had discovered a wasp nest behind her newly planted magnolias and I saw the butterflies and the birds… because the garden still exists, because my wife and I are still alive."

Armin's nose tingles and his eyes sting from the prick of tears. What is he supposed to say to this?

"So please, let us call you Heroes. You saved many people, and a country that never even tried to speak up for Paradis. Especially you, Commander Arlert. You killed Eren Jaeger.” 

I didn't kill him. I only said goodbye. Armin hangs his head to hide the tears threatening to spill out before he feels two palms discreetly pat his back. Jean's, and Connie's. 

“The citizens of Kald and I are forever grateful, and thankful."

"Yes," He finally says. "I– we understand… and thank you." 

The Chancellor beams. "I'm glad. Now, let's talk about what you propose to do in Kald."

Armin clears his throat as the last of the pats Jean and Connie lay on his back cease. "Yes. Well first of all, we want to re-establish communication with Paradis. We cannot go back home for a while, so we need to write to Her Majesty, Queen Historia to ask her to ensure the safety of our family who are still there. I assure you," He quickly adds. "The Queen did not support the Rumbling."

The Chancellor nods in deep thought. "And?"

The anxiety begins to flutter in his chest and he quells it with a deep inhale. "And then, I– we want to have a proper dialogue with the other nations. To discuss the root cause of why this happened and what we can now do to build a better future."

"I see," Armin waits with a bated breath as the older man leans back with his fingers steepled together and mulls over his words. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, before he speaks.

"I understand. And we will help you, but in return–"

Ah. Of course. There's always a cost for everything. 

"... I ask that you all represent Kald in your efforts."

Armin's eyes widen. That's not what he expected to hear.

The Chancellor sighs. "You are surprised. But the reason is simple. You see, in Kald, we live simple lives with simple necessities. I am proud of my country and her people. But we never had any influence over any of the other nations, nor any say in global affairs. This is my greatest regret, that during my time as Chancellor, I too, like my predecessors, never tried to do anything but simply chose to be satisfied with our internal peace despite the growing tensions between the world and Paradis. And you may also have heard, Kald is a dying country. We have a rapidly declining birth rate."

"Yes."

"Make Kald the centre for peace talks. I don't want power or glory, Commander. But I do want to make things right. It is a repentance for our silence and acceptance of the status quo. If you do this, Kald will do everything in its power to help you in your endeavors."

Armin frowns at the table, considering the proposal. Is this okay? What will Paradis think, to learn that they are now representing Kald? Will this make it easier to establish a dialogue with the world, or harder? And what if–

"Further," The Chancellor continues, interrupting his thoughts. "We will give you permanent citizenship and put you on government payroll. No matter where you go, or where you choose to live in future, you will always have a home in Kald and be welcomed with open arms." 

Eren. Is this what you wanted us to achieve?

He looks at the others with raised eyebrows. He may be the only one with a title, but they would all make decisions together – that's what he had promised them on the night after their first baths on Fort Salta. But when they don't say anything, he knows that they've left this one to him. 

He stands up and the Chancellor follows, taking his hand. "We accept."

The Chancellor pats the back of his hand. "Once again and this time with even greater happiness, welcome to Kald."

Over breakfast, Armin divides their newly acquired money into seven portions. A third of it goes into a box as reserve money. The rest of it, equally divided by six for each one of them to spend.

"We can't rely on the housekeeper forever," He tells Jean who looks puzzled at the box that goes into a chest of drawers. "We may be on official payroll now but we still need money for common expenses."

"I can’t believe we're playing house," Connie says between mouthfuls of his third helping of what they now knew to be buckwheat noodles. "It doesn't feel real."

"It doesn't," Armin chuckles, folding the envelopes neatly before handing them out. "We didn't have to do these things even in the Military." 

"Well we lived in Military quarters, not in a house, like now," Reiner says, putting down his empty bowl. "I'm already growing fond of this place. It feels so nice."

"Yeah," Armin follows his gaze outside the window. "It is nice."

"And in Liberio, our houses were very small, with even smaller windows," Reiner goes to the large open window next to the dining table. "But look at these. They're so big and open and the breeze is wonderful."

As if on cue, a mighty breeze blows the sheer white curtains framing the lush green scenery outside. Far below them, the marketplace situated along the winding slope of the hillside village is noisy and he can hear the shouts and calls of hawkers and sellers and even the tinkle of wind chimes carried by the wind. It is still quite cold, but not enough to warrant more than two layers of clothes. 

"My father is probably really happy," Pieck adds. "With his poor health, he could never go anywhere far and our house was so dark and musty. I wonder if the cottages in the settlement have big windows like this."

Armin's gaze lingers on her. Pieck has been unnaturally quiet since they went to the Chancellor's office and he wonders if something's bothering her. But he can't ask her outright, they're not that close. Yet. 

“Well we should go visit them all, but first, let’s go to the market,” He says, getting up and putting his envelope in his back pocket. “Remember, only essentials for now. Some clothes, some personal necessities. We can figure out the rest later.”

The market is bustling with activity and life and Armin wishes he had an extra pair of eyes to absorb everything going on all at once. His head swings from left to right to take in the sight of crates upon crates of colourful fruits and vegetables, dry fruits, and other foods he’s never seen before. A step forward and he’s in a cloud of smoke coming from a corn stand. Another step and his nose is assaulted with the heady scent of spices. Another step and he’s almost caught in the middle of a throng of sellers and buyers bargaining prices. Another step and the sweet aroma of baked bread wafts past his nose. Another step and someone tries to get him to buy a pair of salt and pepper shakers. Yet another step and his eyes sting from the burn of roasting chillies. 

There are shops selling bags and shoes, hats and scarves, sweets and chocolates; stalls cooking soup and noodles in the open street, a large black can sputtering with a fire inside where people warm their hands, coffee shops where the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans entices him… It reminds him of the market he used to run through in Shiganshina, but it’s also different. This is a free world, Paradis was not.

Bamboo baskets swinging from their arms, the six of them stroll through the downward sloping marketplace. Reiner, Connie, Jean and himself trailing behind Pieck and Annie in front of them. He really didn’t want to stand out in this place but with Jean and Reiner, that’s an impossible wish – there’s gaggles of women and girls pointing their way and staring… and another problem that he doesn’t want to think about at the moment. But his eyes lazily roam over Annie’s back. 

Annie who has her basket slung over her shoulder, loose hair swaying this way and that as she glances at various stores and attractions, hands shoved into the pockets of the too-large shirt – a shirt which more than hides the slim curve of her waist that he had touched this morning – legs treading forward in feather-light steps that nobody other than Annie was capable of carrying with such grace – legs that, just this morning had slid along the length of his own and–

He coughs and looks away with a painful sigh. Would it always be this way? Would he never be able to look at her again without thinking of her skin, her waist, her neck or her lips?

“Oh Jean, looks like you’re popular already,” Connie snickers beside him. “Good for you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Jean says, looking very pleased. “There are eyes on you too, Reiner.”

“A-ah well… I’m not sure that’s right,” Reiner laughs modestly, scratching his head. “They’re just looking at you.”

Pieck snorts loudly from the front and Jean immediately looks offended.

“Did you just snort at me?” He demands.

“Is this what you came here to do, Jean?” She mocks, turning to face them and walking backwards. 

Jean's mouth falls open in disbelief. “What I came here to do? What did I come here to do, huh?”

She just scoffs and jerks her chin in the direction of hushed whispers, giggles and squeals. “Attract a horde of girls of course.”

"And that's a bad thing? I didn't ask for this! And why are you so bothered anyway?"

"It's annoying," Pieck drawls. "We're standing out like a sore thumb."

“Well, what about you?” Jean says indignantly. “Is that what you came here to do?!” He jabs his finger at the stares of several young men directed at both the girls… and Armin sighs.

Ah yes. The other problem Armin has been trying very, very hard to ignore. Annie had always been pretty – and he had always known that – but now she’s beautiful and he hadn’t been prepared for the attention she would draw in a foreign country where people didn’t hate them for their race. 

“So are you calling me pretty?” Pieck smirks, catching Jean off-guard.

“W–what?! Absolutely not!” He cries, blushing angrily. 

“Well, if you say so, then I suppose it's true. Thanks, Jean.” She smiles coyly, flipping her hair and facing forward again.

“I did not say that!”

“Oh, you don’t have to be so shy.” She laughs leaving him spluttering for a response. “But while I’m flattered, I want to say that most of those men are staring at Annie, not me.”

Reiner glances at Armin, grinning from ear to ear. “Not to worry about that. The whole country will soon know that Annie’s taken. Isn’t that right, Armin?" Armin turns scarlet when Reiner thumps him too hard on the back.

“Reiner!” 

Pieck begins to sing. “Oh she’s taken–” 

And the others chime in with tone-deaf voices.

“-she's unavailable–"

"-heart stolen–"

"-by our Commander, no less!"

“-and he's taken too–”

“-he's unavailable–”

"-heart stolen–"

"You guys!" Armin hisses, glancing nervously at Annie who's still walking, but very stiffly. "Stop! "

"Oh? Oh?? " Pieck laughs as Annie sharply splits off from them and walks off in the general direction of the bakeries. "She's shy! Commander, you've made her blush!"

Armin glares at everyone as Annie's separation gives the others a cue to split off as well, sauntering into different shops and directions. He calls after them. 

"Remember, don't buy unnecessary things!" 

All he receives in response are distracted waves and careless nods and his heart sinks. He has a very, very bad feeling about this. 

Several minutes later, he passes by a shop selling plants, pots and gardening tools and then a store displaying ceramic crockery, when Pieck fiercely rounds him and he staggers back in surprise. She holds out her hand, palm upwards.

“What?”

“I need extra money.”

“Wha– there should be plenty, I divided the money equally,” Armin replies, confused.

“No, that isn’t enough for me. I need more,” She pauses before slowly smiling. “I have special things to buy.”

Armin blinks. “Special things?”

Pieck sighs. “Armin. Do you really want me to list them?” Her shoulders slump in exaggeration. “Perfume, four pairs of underwear, bra– ”

“Okay, sorry, I understand!” Armin blushes from head to toe and pulls out his money. “Uhm, h–how much?”

“Fifty dunals.”

He pales. “F–fifty… uh, do they cost that much?” 

“They do.” Pieck nods very solemnly. “I checked the prices. So…?” She looks expectantly at him and wiggles her fingers.

“Right.” He places the money in her palm but she doesn’t move. 

“What?”

“Well fifty is for me. What about Annie?” She cocks her head and he turns pink.

“For A–Annie–?”

“Give me her share, I’ll pass it to her. What, do you think Annie doesn't need underwear or bras?” She grins and Armin nearly stops breathing. “I saw lots of different types back there, do you want to come look? Some have lace, some are made of silk, some are– oh, thank you.”

Armin jabs another fifty into her palm, barely able to speak and eyes suddenly too hot with embarrassment. 

“Thanks!” She repeats with a laugh, skipping away to a store behind him that Armin thinks he probably missed and with a flaming red face, he glances at the display windows.

Oh. Oh. 

Th–there’s black and white and blue–

There's a bow on that one… lace on another–

He turns on his heel to walk away and prevent further suffering. Oh no. He’s not going to think about Annie in those. Not now. Not now. But… but what would she… What would she choose? The blue one or… that one with the lace or-

No! Not now!

Still, he can’t help but turn back for another glimpse when he catches Pieck leaving the store empty handed, cross the crowded street and he almost loses sight of her, but swears he sees her skip enthusiastically into the gardening shop. 

What?

Armin shakes his head. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. He has things of his own to buy and so, he looks around the clothing shops for what he needs. 

There are too many fabrics to choose from; some even feel alien between his fingers. Linen. Cotton. Flannel. Tweed. Hemp. Wool. He’s lost in deep thought, trying to make a choice between a black shirt and a blue shirt when there’s a tug on his elbow and he turns.

A little girl with platinum blonde hair and startling green eyes on a sullen face, holding up a tray of colourful lollipops. Armin’s heart skips a beat - this girl looks so much like a young Annie except for the obvious differences. Her nose too, has a light hook. She looks up at him devoid of any real expression and rattles the tray.

“Will you buy some lollipops?” She asks in a dull voice.

Armin kneels down on the pavement. “You’re selling these?”

The girl nods and it is then that he notices the scratch on her cheekbone. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll buy them. I’ll take four.” He pulls out his money. “How much?”

“Four dunals.”

“Alright. Here’s six, and–” He twists to extend an arm and points toward Annie standing a way off down the street, in front of an array of sweet baked goods. “Do you see that pretty girl down there? Blonde hair? Can you give the lollipops to her?”

She blinks dully at him before pocketing the money and disappearing into the throng of people in Annie’s direction. 

Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he wonders about that scratch when he goes back to choosing between the black and blue shirts and decides to get them both. Now, for shaving supplies.

She’s been blindsided. 

Annie narrows her eyes and grits her teeth. This is a life or death situation. Violence is no longer an option. What does she have left then? How had she not seen this coming? It had taken her by surprise and thrown her off guard. Of course this would happen in a foreign country. But she's got no choice now but to decide what to do. Her heart feels grim and heavy. Indecisiveness turns her to stone. But she must choose.

Chocolate filled croissants? Or cherry biscuits?

She glances at her basket. There are six sugar glazed buns there - she hadn't even expected to find them here - two raspberry cakes, three chocolate and almond cookies that she’s been told are called Brunsli, and five apple strudels.

But she doesn’t have the croissants and cherry biscuits.

She sighs. She has to choose.

"How much for this?" She asks the rosy-cheeked woman, gesturing at an entire row half containing croissants and half biscuits. That makes twelve. Six of each.

The baker looks surprised. "All of it?" 

Annie nods.

"Oh my! Well that will be… eighteen dunals, my dear."

Eighteen dunals. She doesn't have eighteen dunals, she has four dunals. Now she has to go and find more money.

Well, there's only one person she can ask.

It's not hard to find him, there's nobody else that looks like him here. She's been looking at his back for as long as she can remember and she'd recognise it anywhere – although it has changed a little in the four years she missed out on. He’s a little taller, a little broader and he's standing in front of a grocer, buying a basket of apples and cooing at the shop's pet dog. He's always been like this. A sap.

She kicks his boots.

"Hey. Lend me some money."

Reiner yelps, dropping his basket and clutching at his feet.

"Annie, that hurts!" He cries and then frantically looks at his brand new purchase rolling down the street. "My apples!"

"How much do you have?" She ignores him and spots the white envelope sticking out of his back pocket which she snatches and blows open. She smiles. Good, there's twenty dunals. "I'm borrowing nineteen. I'll give it back later."

"What?!" Reiner's mouth falls open. "You can't just steal my money Annie!" He moves to grab it back but she touches his calves lightly with her feet and he crumbles to the ground.

"Ouch, ouch! "

"Oh, I see you've chosen violence again," Jean's voice sounds from behind her. He bends to extend a hand to help Reiner up and clicks his tongue at Annie. "Poor guy, haven't you hit him enough?"

"Don't you think it's unfair that I'm getting beaten up even after losing my titan powers?" Reiner complains, standing up and dusting his buttocks.

Jean laughs dryly. "Ha. I actually never thought it was fair you were called the Armoured Titan considering how often you got blown to pieces but anyway–" He clears his throat. “I want to show you something, Reiner. Come with me.”

“Alright, but I don’t have any money,” Annie ignores the frown Reiner directs her, already marching up the path back to the bakery. “Lend me some Jean.”

“Sure. Come on."

At the bakers, Annie watches with a deeply satisfied heart as the very happy owner packs her delicious purchases into a large paper bag. She even gets a discount of two dunals when the lady says she's never had such good business in a single day from a single customer. The bag barely fits into her basket so she carries it by her hip as she continues to explore. 

There are so many shops she hadn't noticed during the dark early hours of this morning - the crowd and chaos is almost unbelievable. There's a newspaper stand and it's filled with headlines of the Rumbling, of how it was stopped, of the people who stopped it and she pauses to skim over a few lines that carry vague descriptions and speculation about the 'heroes who ended the life of the Devil from Paradis, Eren Jaeger' and she moves on, nibbling on a biscuit. 

When Annie stops by a cotton candy machine, enraptured by the swirl of sugar glowing pink in the fire, someone tugs on her elbow and she turns. 

She almost drops her basket. 

It's like looking back in time, except her eyes aren't blue, her hair much lighter and her frame much weaker. The little girl's green eyes carefully study Annie's face and hair before holding up four colourful lollipops. 

"I was asked to give these to you." Her face is blank. "By a man up the street."

Annie narrows her eyes. "Which man?" 

The girl shrugs. "Hair like yours, eyes like yours." 

Oh, Annie relaxes. Just Armin. She observes the lollipops and feels a warmth bloom over her face. Why did he have to be so stupidly affectionate all the time? 

"Okay, thanks," She replies, taking them. "How much?" 

"He paid for them." The girl says and turns away but not before Annie notices the light bruise on her cheek, hidden by her hair. 

"Hey kid," She says and the little girl stops. "How did you get that?" She gestures at her cheek. 

The small face, so much like her own, betrays no emotion, "I fell." Then she disappears into the crowd. 

It would be a convincing explanation, only, Annie knows better.

Hmm. Two blades, three blades, or the safety blade? The first time Armin had learned to shave, he was only fifteen and he had been taught along with everyone else, by their military instructor. He still remembers trying to sleep in the barracks and failing miserably from the exaggerated groans and grumbles of the others who had nicked themselves plenty in the process. Not to say that he never saw blood himself of course, he had simply learned to be more patient and gentle with it.

Three blades probably will be more effective but Armin settles on the safety blade – he's used to it. He can't risk trying something new right now. Shaving on Fort Salta had been difficult and painful with broken blades and jagged edges. 

When he moves to pick a shaving cream, he spots Annie coming in through the shop in search of him, a lollipop in her mouth and a giant bag of what he deduces contains baked goods – based on the grease stains – tucked under her arm. He grins when she finds him standing in an empty aisle.

"Did you buy all the bread in Kald?" He laughs as she comes closer, leaning down to sniff the bag she holds. "It smells really good though."

"No," She deadpans. "Just a few."

"A few huh," He chuckles, turning his attention back to the wooden shelves stacked with tins of cream and gel. "Are you sure that isn't a lot?"

She doesn't respond, peering into the basket on his arm which is filled with two shirts, two pairs of pants, two blue sweaters, a pair of nail clippers, shampoo and the safety razor he had just picked. And she nods. 

"Good. Blue suits you." She says, turning the lollipop over to her other cheek. 

"Blue suits me?" Armin smiles, raising an eyebrow at her. "And this is based on what?" 

Annie shrugs nonchalantly, looking around at the other shelves full of hygiene products. "You often used to wear blue shirts back in Paradis. You looked really nice in them. It's a good colour on you."

Armin looks away to hide a massive smile. Just how much attention had she paid to him back then? 

"Well,” He can’t help his grin. “I suppose I was wise in choosing blue again then," Trying his best to control his urge to tease her, he adds, "I think it would look really nice on you too." 

Annie faces him. "Me?"

"Yeah," He says softly, reaching out a finger to brush away a stray lock of hair on her forehead. "But a lighter blue, to match your eyes."

His eyes drop down to her mouth where the little wooden stem of the lollipop sticks out. "Is the lollipop good?"

"Mhmm," Annie says, picking up the shaving cream he had chosen and scrutinising it.

"Can I have a taste?" 

She looks at him then, and he doesn't know if he imagines the twinkle in her eyes or not, because she glances around the isolated aisle, pulls the lollipop out, takes a step forward, leans up, and pecks him on the lips, before coolly – or maybe not so coolly, her steps are too quick – walking out of the shop and up the street. 

Armin hides his burning face in a palm and slumps against the shelves. 

It tastes so sweet. 

In another little shop, Armin spends an inordinate amount of time choosing aftershave. It’s not him being picky, he’s just never seen so many kinds, and they all seem really nice. He pops open a glass bottle to sniff at the liquid inside and it stings his nose. Not this one. Too strong.

By the time he leaves the shop, he’s got almost everything he wanted – except a wallet. He can’t keep carrying money around in envelopes. Armin strolls around leisurely when an arm suddenly swings over his shoulder and he jumps in shock.

“Jean! You scared me!” He scolds and Jean grins sheepishly.

“Ahh, sorry, sorry,” He coughs. “But uh, I– no, that is… do you have any money to spare?”

“Why?” Armin regards him curiously.

“I need some shaving supplies and cream and…” He trails off, looking slightly nervous.

“Oh I found a nice razor, here,” Armin pulls out his brand new blade from his basket. “I bought it over there,” He points down the road. “It’s got a nice grip and sturdy build. They have good shaving cream too.”

Jean shuffles his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Y–yeah, no, I– this blade won’t work for my– my beard. I need a different blade.”

Armin looks at him suspiciously. “I’m sure it will work.”

“It won’t,” Jean insists fiercely. “Do you want me to nick myself? I found some good ones in a shop up-street. Just lend me some, I’ll pay you back.”

“Well, alright,” Armin pulls out some notes and coins with a frown. “What happened to your money though–" 

“Thanks! I’ll pay you back real soon!” Jean plucks it out of his fingers and dashes up the road, just as Pieck emerges from behind Armin, pulling a large cart of plants behind her. He gapes in shock.

“Pieck!” He stares at the overflowing cart. “What is that?”

“Plants!” She says cheerfully. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“No! I mean, yes, but,” He stares at her. “Did you buy all this?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t not, they were calling out to me,” She looks at them fondly. “I’m going to fill my room with them.”

“B–but,” He says, searching the cart for any sign of a basket with Pieck’s essentials. “Didn’t you buy anything else at all? You– you even said you needed s–special things and-”

“You’re not what you seem, are you?” Pieck laughs. “Did you think I’d be flying my new undergarments on a flag, Armin? I got all my things, they’re under the plants. And, I saw Annie go in there just now,” She leans in close, dropping her voice to a whisper. “She went to the silk section. Great choice if you ask me. Excellent selections there.” And she winks and climbs the street, cart rattling noisily behind her.

Armin barely has time to process her words when Connie bumps into his back, sweating profusely despite the cold climate.

“Connie! What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, I was– I was looking for you.” Connie looks and sounds skittish. “Armin, can you… lend me some cash?”

Armin takes a step back. “Why?”

“Uh, well– I need to um, pay someone–”

“For what?”

“Well there was an accident in the crockery shop and–”

“Connie, did you break something?” Armin hisses.

“No!” Connie says loudly, looking panicked. “I didn’t! It just… fell.”

“How did it fall?”

“Uh… natural causes…?” Connie grimaces and Armin’s heart plummets into his stomach.

He whispers. “How much…?”

“S–seventy dunals…”

At a complete loss for words, Armin hands over the money without even looking at it, or at Connie, who mumbles an apology of some sort and takes off down the street.

Too dumbstruck to have any thoughts not involving blowing his fuse at his friends, Armin walks down the sloping path in search of a shop selling the last item on his list. 

Somehow, Armin forgets all about the others and what else they may have possibly gotten themselves into, when he chances upon a rich, brown leather wallet with lots of space, lots of functionality and also conveniently only costs fifteen dunals. 

“Excellent choice, young man!” The burly looking salesman folds his hands, satisfied. “One day, this wallet will bring you great luck!”

Armin laughs. “Is that so?”

The salesman nods furiously. “Yes, look at all those pockets! You can fill it with pictures of your wife and children!”

Armin turns the wallet over in his hands, feeling the onset of a warm blush creep up his neck. Wife and children huh? Yeah, he’s thought of it. Sometimes. Many times. A lot of times. Miniature Annies running around. Maybe they would have her eyes and his hair. Or the other way around? Would he fill this wallet with photos of them? Would he look at them every morning and night when, or rather, if he has to be separated from them?

“Are you buying it?” The man asks. “You won’t find another like it at this price.”

“Okay. I’ll take it,” He declares with a decisive nod. “Fifteen dunals, you said?”

“I’ll give it to you for twelve dunals.”

“Thank you,” Armin smiles, reaching into his pocket. 

And he stares in horror into the envelope where nothing but a lone coin rattles around.

He's broke. 

How in the world – he’s fuming. Jean definitely did not take his money for razors. Connie had broken something. He doesn’t know about Reiner. Pieck had bought the whole garden shop in a cart. And Annie… well, she was just being Annie.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but can you keep this aside?” Armin grimaces, placing the wallet on the counter. “I’ll come back for it.”

“Will you though? Someone else may want it and I can’t lose out on a sale,” The salesman squints. 

“I promise, I’ll come back for it.” Armin insists, trying not to let his temper show. “Right this very evening.”

“Alright. Keep your word.”

“Thank you.”

He leaves the shop in angry strides. How dare they splurge money like that? They've barely been in Kald for four days! He’s hardly taken a step beyond the awning when three figures whiz past him faster than the speed of light and he stops dead in his tracks. His hair and clothes flutter in the aftermath.

Surely not.

“Reiner! Stop!” Jean hollers.

Fucking hell.

Armin dashes back into the shop and dumps his basket on the counter. “I’m sorry, can I leave this here for a moment? I’ll come back for it! Thank you!” And he skids past the door and takes off running behind Jean, Connie, Reiner down the winding street.

“What are you three doing?! ” He yells, nearly losing his footing on a stray apple. “Connie, stop!”

“A dog–” Connie yells back. “Stole something from Reiner's pocket!”

“What?!” Armin shrieks, almost colliding with a trolley of fruits. Far down and ahead, he sees a large white dog gleefully bounding in front of a frantic Reiner. “What did it steal?! Money?”

“I don’t know!” Connie shouts as they race past several bakeries. “But he’s crying! And it’s not money, he’s broke!”

What?! Armin’s rage builds. What did he do with all of his cash?!

“He’s always crying!” Jean screams from in front of Connie. “It really doesn’t matter, just get him to stop!”

“Reiner!” Armin cries. “Stop running!”

They hurtle down and across the entirety of the market when the road widens and closely packed buildings give way to a vast expanse of smooth meadow on both sides. He faintly registers the sound of gurgling water when Reiner tackles the dog and Jean and Connie stop, collapsing on their backs. Armin drops to his hands and knees on the chilly stone ground, gasping and heaving for breath.

With tears streaming down his face, Reiner carefully extricates something soft and brown from the dog’s slobbery mouth and falls on his butt, covering his face with his palms.

“W–what–” Armin wheezes. “What is that?”

Connie blinks at Reiner from where he’s flat on his back, panting harshly. And then he cries out. “Ahhh! Don’t tell me that’s what I think it is!” 

“What is it?” Armin demands, coughing. He’s never felt angrier in his entire life.

“Reiner,” Connie sits up. “Is that Historia’s skirt from Castle Utgard?”

Reiner's face slumps into his knees and the other three fall silent. Armin feels his anger ebb away. Historia’s skirt? Castle Utgard?

Jean rises to his feet, red in the face and hair blown wild, and squats beside Reiner. “Hey. Is that what this is?”

Reiner nods and rubs his eyes. “I– I’m sorry. It is Historia’s. It was in my pocket and the– the dog just–”

“Have you been carrying it with you? All these years?” Connie sounds incredulous.

“Please tell me you washed this,” Jean winces, holding the piece of cloth with his thumb and forefinger. 

Armin, clearing his throat, stumbles over to Reiner and kneels beside him. “Why?” He asks quietly. 

Reiner wipes his tears away. “It was a source of strength for me. All these years. When I had to do things I didn’t want to do… I remembered Historia. And this piece of cloth was all I had to remind myself of what she did for me. Her kindness. What she was like. Everything, really. It reminded me of all of you too."

Armin sighs heavily. They all had things they had kept close to their heart during those four years. Things to hold on to hope and people to wait for. For Jean it was Marco and perhaps Mikasa too. For Connie, it was his mother. For Armin it was that seashell, his book, and Annie. For Annie, her father. And for Reiner, it was his mother and Historia. 

Jean, standing up and stepping off the pathway and onto the grassy meadow, mutters, "She's married now, you idiot. Don't lust after her."

Connie stares at the limp cloth between Reiner's fingers. "The dog probably stole it because it smelled funny."

"Go home and wash it!" Jean orders, sprawling on the grass. "By the way, what is this beautiful place?"

It is only then that Armin properly looks at his surroundings. Several metres in front of them is a crystal clear lake, so big and wide he doesn't clearly see the end of it. A long wooden bridge cuts across the waters from the bank of their side to the other side, where several cottages dot the foothills of gigantic mountains rising in green and lush with trees, before narrowing to their peaks which are well hidden above swirling clouds. He observes the cottages, some of which have smoke coming out of their chimneys. Ah. Those must be the settlements.

"I believe this is Lake Brienne the Chancellor told us about," Armin says, walking over to Jean and lying on the grass. "It's certainly beautiful."

"Is that where they all are, over there?" Connie settles beside Armin. "Everyone from Fort Salta?"

"Yeah. I wonder which one my mother is in," Reiner sniffs, lying next to Jean. "When should we go, Armin?"

Armin closes his eyes in peace. The bright blue sky is full of clouds floating by and the breeze feels heavenly on his skin. The grass is soft and slightly damp under him and the earthy smell of wet soil invades his lungs. The sounds of water gurgling and rippling some distance away, soothes his soul. 

"Anytime," He says quietly. "Close your eyes, all of you. This is so nice." 

They probably follow suit because everyone goes quiet. A row of boys, lying spread-eagled on a bright green meadow, by a lake so clear it mirrors the beautiful blue sky above. Each inhale of crisp, clean air fills him with tranquillity. Each breeze that blows his hair back and sends the grass rippling in waves around him, brings him serenity. He doesn't know when, but at some point, the dog decides to join them and plops on top of Reiner, licking him violently and Reiner hugs it close, laughing. With eyes still closed, Armin extends a hand to ruffle the dog's fur. The dog is precious. After all, eighty percent of the world no longer had dogs… Or any other form of life, for that matter. From somewhere far away and beyond, his nose picks up on the feeble scent of lavender. 

Now it is a row of boys, and one dog, lying spread-eagled on a bright green meadow, by a lake so clear it mirrors the beautiful blue sky above.

"Hey! What are you boys doing?" Pieck's call cuts through the tranquil silence and they raise their heads. She emerges from behind the last of the shops lining the market road and stops, awestruck by the meadows and the lake and the mountains beyond. "Goodness, what is this place?"

"That's where your father is!" Reiner calls back, pointing at the settlements in the distance. "Beautiful isn't it?"

Annie soon emerges behind Pieck, still carrying her brown bag of sweets and Armin can't help but laugh. She's holding it so carefully and gently and he feels a warm squeeze in his heart. She can be so cute sometimes.

When the girls settle on the grass next to the boys, the aroma of warm bread and cake wafts into their nostrils and Connie's stomach growls.

"I'm starving," He eyes Annie's bag. "Perfect timing Annie, mind if we all share?"

"No–" She has no time to even glower before Jean plucks the bag out of her arms and begins to rummage inside. She glares at him so fiercely he winces. 

"Oh c'mon, we're all so hungry. Armin is hungry too, aren't you Armin?" 

Armin just sighs. "I'm not really," He says but it doesn't matter because Annie's carefully chosen sweets are being pilfered and handed out to everyone. Armin gets a cake, a croissant and a large biscuit thrust unceremoniously into his hands and he leans forward to peek at Annie's face where she's sitting on the farthest end beside Pieck. She's not happy. But there's also a softness in her eyes which he can only attribute to the fact that she cares for all of them a little too much now to actually get angry over something like this.

The sounds of noisy munching and crunching fill the air as the six of them relax on the meadow, watching transparent waters ripple and sparkle under the mild morning sunshine. The cottages are too far away to properly see, but Armin swears he hears the sounds of laughing children and some small figures moving about. He leans back on his hands and watches Annie with a warm smile. Her hair blows in the breeze and she looks serene. The dog leans against her and she feeds it small bites of whatever she’s eating, looking startled when it licks her face and neck in adoration.

He picks up the empty paper bag and tears one side out, wraps his sweets with it and puts it aside. Connie gives him a sidelong glance in between taking large bites of a cake. 

“Not eating?”

“Yeah, I’ll eat later,” Armin says quietly. “Not hungry now.”

Jean groans loudly. “This is so good! It's just melting in my mouth!" 

Pieck grumbles, dusting her lap and hands with disgust. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't spew food all over Jean," She complains. "What's the point in buying so much expensive perfume and hair wax if you can't eat like a civilised man?"

Ahh.

Expensive perfume. Hair wax.

Armin is acutely aware of how Jean has frozen mid-chew. 

He gets up, dusting his hands. "Alright. I want all of you to tell me how you spent your money. And Reiner, why are you broke?”

Dinner is a subdued affair. 

"Armin, c'mon lighten up."

"I've never seen you this mad."

"Honestly it's a little scary."

“I told you I’m sorry…”

Armin focuses intensely on his spoon and fork, refusing to look at anyone else, especially Annie. He's been so irritated that even the sight of their ivy-covered house full of flowers blooming down the side on their walk back home couldn’t make him smile. Every single one of them was broke. And not a single one of them had been frugal. A cart full of plants had somehow climbed the stairs to the second floor. A basket obscenely full and clinking with glass bottles and tins of hair wax had disappeared into Jean's room. Reiner had meekly carried a large crystal-beaded tree into the house – someone had talked him into buying it for good luck. Connie had an empty basket – he had broken not just one plate, but several ceramic showpieces and Armin didn't even want to know what they were. And Annie was a victim just like him – her paper bag of food now contained nothing but air. 

He feels Annie's eyes on him but doesn't look up from his bowl of soup and noodles and it's partly due to embarrassment. The last time he had snapped was at Mikasa when Eren had begun the Rumbling and it wasn't something he was proud of. He doesn't want Annie to see him so angry, it's not a side of himself he ever wants to expose to anyone. 

It's only when the loud scrape of a chair distracts him from his insecurities, that he glances up. Annie's done with her meal after just one serving. 

"You're done already?" Pieck asks. "Have a second helping, there's plenty."

"No, I'm good." Annie replies, washing her dishes in the sink before placing them on the drying rack. 

"Are you going to sleep?" Pieck asks again and Annie pauses by the foot of the stairs before turning her head and locking her cool eyes with his surprised ones. 

"I'm going to have a squeaky clean bath." 

Armin chokes on his soup.

He tries to stop his coughing when she begins to climb the stairs slowly, every creak of the wooden floorboards a quiet signal to him to make up an excuse and follow her. 

"Ahh!" He suddenly yells, making everyone jump. Annie pauses on the stairs. "Dishes! We'll do the dishes! And then I'm going to sleep in… in one hour!"

"Okay, we'll do the dishes, but why are you yelling?" Reiner blinks at him curiously. 

"You scared me for a second there." Jean clutches at his heart as Armin hears Annie's footsteps grow quicker until they die down beyond the first floor.

He finishes his food at lightning speed. He's got a head start on the dishes. He even dries them and puts them away without waiting for the others, head too full of wild thoughts to focus on the idle chatter of the others when they join him. And by the time they're all fully engaged in dish-washing, he relieves himself with some mumbled excuse, and sprints up the stairs. 

It's the fastest bath he takes. Also the most violent. The water almost scalds him and he scrubs his skin raw. Behind his ears, neck, shoulder blades, armpits, and down there, oh, especially down there. He shampoos his hair so fiercely, the water isn't enough to get rid of the lather and he has to dunk his head into the bathtub to rinse it clean. He trims his nails and just about drops the clipper down the toilet. He shaves, and this time, even the safety razor isn't enough protection for his feverish haste. He slaps the aftershave onto his cheeks and jaws so hard it stings. 

And finally, he stares at himself in the mirror above the washbasin, hair dripping wet over his eyes. Will Annie like what she sees? What if perhaps, she's disappointed? He's not so… built. He's not so… strong. He's not… a lot of things. 

Then he blushes furiously, because he knows Annie's somewhere above his head, in her bathroom, bathing. Oh god.  

Pulling on his underwear, his pants and his shirt - all new and smelling really nice - he tries to plan it all out, because he's always been like that, a man with a plan. He has to kiss her. Of course. Clothes have to come off. Will her undergarments be… blue? He claps a hand to his mouth, too pained with imagining the possibilities. Then he has to go down on her so it doesn't hurt later and… also… because… god, he really really wants to. 

And somehow, he has to control himself throughout, so he lasts with her until the end.

How is he going to do that? 

Shit. Is this really happening?

He’s barely buttoned up his shirt when he hears the door click open and then shut. Hurriedly throwing the towel around his neck, Armin almost trips over the bathroom step in his haste to get out because it’s been roughly an hour and it can’t be the others – they would’ve knocked – so it’s got to be her, right?

It is. 

And so much for his planning. His mind goes blank the second he sees her. 

Annie leans against the door she just closed, hands behind her back and legs crossed at the ankles in a way that tells him she’s nervous. It's still somewhat an alien sight – he's never known Annie to be nervous about anything – but here she is, chewing her lip and fidgeting against his door… and the sight evokes feelings that go straight not to his brain, but his crotch. 

But she's probably doing better than him . All day he hadn't been able to conjure up a single functional train of thought that didn't have something of how Annie felt in his arms earlier this morning. Her surprisingly soft skin, the delicious sighs and whispers that fell out of her pretty lips, her half lidded eyes, her flushed cheeks and neck, and the feel of her body – so strong and yet lithe and delicate – against his… and it had been nothing but torture to look at her, look at anything, and not relive it in his head. 

He takes in her appearance - white hoodie, but it looks new and it has a zipper all the way down front. Good, he won't have to fumble with it. Loose black shorts stopping at the mid-thighs, and he has to swallow his nerves. She had almost melted half his brain this morning dressed in a pair of full pants, how is he going to last with her bare legs? Her hair is still damp at the ends and he has to bite his cheeks when she crosses her legs the other way and the light catches the mild sheen of water down her neck. Had she been in as much of a hurry as him? Oh god.

"How long are you going to stare?" Her voice cuts through his racing thoughts and he snaps his eyes to hers. 

So she says, but she's busy staring at him. He doesn't miss the way her thighs press together when her pale blue eyes stop somewhere around what he can only assume are his hips - and he almost draws blood from his cheeks.

"A-ah… s–sorry, it's just…"

She tucks her chin in a beckon. "Come here," She calls softly. 

The damp towel around his neck gets thrown somewhere. His legs move toward her as if in a trance and the rest of the movements are fluid – the anticipatory rise of her feet onto her tiptoes, the dull thud of her back against the door, his hands pressing into her waist, her arms circling his shoulders, his lips ghosting her jaw and her nose tickling his ear. 

He inhales. Annie smells sweet. Some of it from the soap probably, the rest of it is very much just Annie - a sweet scent he had caught whiffs of whenever she was close enough or walked past him so many, many years ago. It fills his nostrils and his senses and he willingly drowns in it. A damp strand of her hair brushes against his cheek when he kisses her jaw and absorbs the little sigh she lets escape. He opens his mouth to tell her how good she smells but she beats him to it. 

"You smell nice," She states quietly with a deep inhale right under his ear and his spine tingles. 

"Yeah?" He breathes on her pulse point before brushing an open mouthed kiss on it and pulling away. "So do you. So nice." 

Annie's eyes are dark and she looks at his lips with so much need, it's enough to send his blood racing down somewhere where it throbs dully. He can’t help it, his knee presses between her thighs – it’s not something he consciously thinks to do, but he’s acutely aware of how she’s still squirming – and she rewards him with a low whimper, her legs spreading, feet stumbling and even stepping on top of his. He doesn’t mind, it only brings her closer and his palms seem to think the same, bringing her waist flush with his hips – and it feels so good, so fucking good, a new rush of blood floods his crotch. 

Her fingertips tickle the nape of his neck and he gazes into her eyes, lips parted and breathing unevenly. They haven’t even kissed yet and he’s already on the verge of losing his mind. She returns his gaze with ten times the intensity before dropping it to his open mouth, parting her own and brushing it lightly against his. A shock wave runs through his core – she’s teasing him. Two can play at that. He only has to dip his head a little – she’s that close – and skims her lips and it sends them into a game, kissing without kissing, and it’s a game they play only briefly because it leaves them both breathless and panting, especially him. 

But Annie’s not as patient as he is; this is something he’s learned over the last few weeks, so when she pulls away, leaning her head against the door, he’s only glad this game is over because he’s dying to kiss her properly and taste the roof of her mouth. She regards him with hazy eyes before staring at his lips again and tugging on his neck – finally. Before Armin can kiss her though, she stops him with a finger to his lips.

“Are you squeaky clean?” She whispers and he can’t help but smile against her finger. 

“Mhmm.” He goes to kiss her again but her finger is more insistent in stopping him.

“Trim your nails?” Now she’s smiling and he almost bites her finger playfully.

“Yes,” He murmurs and she drops the finger to hold the sides of his neck instead, still keeping him a hair’s-width away from her lips and it almost drives him insane.

“You’re not going to say you’re not ready anymore?” Her eyes fall closed and he savours the deepening blush on her cheek. She’s so embarrassed but it isn’t stopping her from learning to be bold and playful with him and his heart swells with pride – tremendous progress considering they had only bared their feelings less than a month ago. 

“No, I’m not,” He murmurs and she pulls him in and everything falls into place.

Intoxication. That’s how it feels, kissing her. The world is only perfect when his lips mould with hers, dragging, slipping, sliding, pressing, sucking, and for each such action, she gives him a sigh, a whimper, a whine, a mewl and a moan. Every single one of these sounds she sends straight into his mouth travels down, down, all the way down to a limb that’s growing bigger with each passing second. 

“Lock… the door,” She manages to murmur in between kisses and somehow, his foggy brain reacts, albeit a little slowly. Armin hums into her mouth before one of his hands leaves her waist and fumbles around to their side where the doorknob ought to be. He finds the button, presses it and when the little click ensures their privacy, his palm goes back to her waist, but this time, slips under her hoodie and squeezes. 

Annie jerks forward and Armin groans, breaking the kiss briefly. Why was she so sensitive there? Would she always be like this for him? Whimpering at the slightest caresses to her waist? What would happen if he kisses it, sucks on it? What if he bites into it? Would she scream his name?

“A-Armin…” She moans breathily and he slips his other hand under her hoodie too and squeezes. It makes Annie’s hips shoot into his form so much he has trouble holding her up, she might as well be straddling him in a standing position. He studies her face – her eyes are dazed, an angry blush high on her pale cheeks and lips red and bitten and swollen. Because of him. Because of him.

It’s getting incredibly hard to think properly – all Armin can see is her, pinned between the wall and himself, coming undone – and they haven’t even undressed. How is he going to last with her until the end? The thought nestles a small bundle of panic in a corner of his fuzzy brain but he ignores it for now. Right now, they need to get to his bed. 

So he pulls her away from the wall and staggers backward. His own footing is unsure but Annie follows and somehow, they stumble to the foot of his bed, where his knee buckles and he sits – and Annie follows him once again, throwing a bent knee on his either side and straddling him.

Fuck. She’s sitting on his lap, and it’s not like in Fort Salta when she had sat on his lap – then, there were more clothes involved; thicker clothes and covered skin – no, because now, she’s in shorts and they’ve ridden further up her thighs and the rest of her legs are all bare skin – strong, powerful, muscled and taut – but bare skin all the same and he thinks, even without touching them, that they look soft. 

His hands wrap around her middle to hold her close and Annie brings her arms around his neck once more, tilting her head for another long, deep kiss and this time, she licks him first. He opens his mouth and invites her in, sighing in pleasure when she drags her tongue on the side of his in a slow, languid pace – it’s got his toes curling into the wooden floor and his fingers digging into her spine. She pulls away and he chases her back, drawing her tongue out and then sucking on it only to feel her thighs press into the sides of his hips. He groans into her mouth because fuck yes, she is soft and it takes all his willpower not to sink his fingers into the skin of her inner thighs.  

He breaks away from her delightfully sensitive and swollen lips to brush her hair away from her neck and run his mouth down the long and graceful expanse of skin. Annie’s body curls into him and the pleasurable weight of her hips forces him back on one elbow. Between his kisses and nips and her whimpers of ecstasy he becomes aware of how her chest is pressed against his – and his throat goes dry.

She’s… there’s no bra. There wasn’t one this morning either, when he had slid his hands up to her shoulder blades – but now it’s all so much worse because she’s squirming on his lap, dangerously close to his cock that’s begun to strain against his pants. And if he isn’t wrong… if what he thinks is right…

Armin backs away, leaving her hot, bothered and lonely. His eyes burn as he drinks in the sight of her slowly, from top to bottom - soft damp hair gathered over one shoulder, that’s his handiwork. Heavy lashes framing glazed eyes that are more black than blue from her pupils blown wide. Open lips panting soft breaths he wants to breathe in. A blush so crimson on her cheeks and staining beautifully down her neck as far as he can see before the zipper obstructs his view. Chest heaving and…

He’s not wrong. He’s right. Two perky nubs are poking through the fabric of her hoodie and his cock hurts. Fuck. He wants to tear his eyes away from them, but he can’t, how can he, there’s nothing but a zipper between him and what’s teasing him from behind it. The zipper looks smooth, one pull and he can see more of Annie, more of her beauty and feel it all with his hands and lips–

“What?” Annie questions in a breathy voice, barely getting any sound out and it sends another shock wave down his body. How is he going to last with her looking and sounding like this?  

"Armin," She says again. "What is it?" And without warning, she shifts on his lap and they both jerk forward, into each other. Her fingers dig painfully into his shoulders but he doesn't care, he can't think of anything, his mind isn't working but it's also working too fast, going a mile a minute, and he hisses in pleasure and pain when her thighs squeeze around his waist. 

“A–ah!” She cries and slumps forward into the crook of his neck, trembling.

She's right there, right there, on top of his cock, and she's pressed along his length and he can feel her– her–

The blood drains from his face.

Is it… is it really…?

He becomes aware of his arm still tight around her waist and he swallows his thumping heartbeat. He has to know.

“Annie,” He whispers shakily. “Can I– touch you lower…?” 

When he feels her nod on his shoulder, he bites back a groan as his palm gently slides down the small of her back and comes to rest on her ass over her shorts. He squeezes and she bites his shoulder with a moan so beautiful, he nearly bucks his hips before the sound of his heartbeat drumming away in his ears drowns out her voice. The fabric of her shorts isn’t very thick. He knows.

“Annie,” He whispers weakly into her hair. “No– no… underwear?”

Annie shakes her head, face still buried in his shoulder. “No. It would have come off anyway… I– ah! ” When he squeezes again. “D–didn’t wear any.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knows he’s probably leaking. No, he is leaking. But the dampness he’d felt soaking into the crotch of his pants didn’t seem right – that’s not where the head of his cock was pointing and now he knows – it’s not him, it’s her.

She’s so wet.

The realisation sends another sharp pang of pain and pleasure down to where she’s pressed so tightly against him and he involuntarily grabs her ass particularly hard. She yelps and  bucks her hips forward and Armin almost sees stars. Annie’s sitting along his throbbing length, without any underwear, so wet, that it’s soaking through her shorts and into his pants and he can barely form any coherent thoughts anymore. You’re not going to last! The small bundle of panic in his pleasure-addled brain screams. You’re definitely not going to last!

He has to last. Somehow. He needs to get her off his lap, off his cock. He needs to get up, get her flat on the bed. Keep his hips away from hers. That way he can forget about the sweet, wet pressure on his shaft and explore her body instead. It’ll bring some relief. He needs to-

Annie pulls away to kiss him hard and roll her hips into his again, and his brain screeches to a stop. He struggles to breathe steadily. He can feel her wetness rubbing along the length of his painfully hard cock and he groans into her mouth, fingers digging into the soft curve of her ass.

“Annie, wait,” He sighs and it comes off more like a whine. “I can’t– I won’t–”

“Armin,” Her eyes fall closed as she continues to roll her hips with an unsteady rhythm and bites her lip in ecstasy. He can’t bear it. The way she looks, the way she sounds, the way she’s breathing his name, the way she’s moving, the way she’s so, so wet. “Armin… oh–”

Shit, he won’t make it. He’s going to cum in his pants without even getting the both of them undressed. Fuck. He needs to get her on the bed now and distract himself. He has to–

A knock on his door. “Heyyyy Armin!”

They freeze. 

“Are you in there? Open up!”

Annie’s cloudy eyes regain some of their usual alertness and find his own, rapidly blinking in shock. It takes him longer to come out of the fog of pleasure wrapped around him and he looks at the door with panic. 

Another knock. “Aren’t you there?” It’s Jean’s voice.

“Did he go out somewhere?” Reiner.

“No he’s in there, there’s the light under the door, see.” Connie.

“Armin!” Several knocks.

Pleasure gives way to full-blown panic. What the hell are they doing outside his room? 

“Maybe he’s taking a bath?” Reiner’s muffled voice is interrupted by a few thuds and creaks. 

“Oh he’s in there! I can see his feet by the foot of his bed!”

Armin’s feet fly off the floor and he loses his balance, toppling onto the bed on his back with Annie collapsing on top of him. They’re peeking under his door now?!

More knocks follow. “Armin, hey, open up!”

Annie extricates herself from his grip, looking furious. She glances at the door before growling, “Get rid of them. Now.”

“Wait, wait,” He whispers, patting her thigh. “They’ll probably go away if we keep quiet.”

“Are you stupid?!” She hisses into his face. “They’ve seen your legs move, they’re not going to go away! I thought you were smart!”

“Shhh!”

“Hey Armin! Let us in?”

Annie glares at him. “Deal with them right now. Make up some excuse. Go.” She shoves him roughly before rolling off the bed and slinking into his bathroom, locking it behind her. 

The knocking gets louder and Armin exhales angrily before getting off the bed, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his pants. Shit, what now? 

He unlocks the door and cracks it open just a little bit. “What is it?”

Three extremely happy faces beam at him. “There you are! Why'd you take so long?” Jean laughs before forcefully shoving the door open, and Armin gapes in disbelief as the three of them stream into his room, mattresses and pillows in hand.

“What are you guys doing?” He squawks, horrified when Reiner, Jean and Connie throw down their bedding on the floor near his own bed.

“We thought we’d all sleep together,” Reiner grins, plopping down on his newly made bed. “Like we used to back in the barracks. For old times’ sake.”

“Yeah,” Connie rolls over his sheets. “Those times were fun.”

“But what happened to you? You look so red,” Jean looks Armin up from head to toe before spotting the wet towel on the floor. “Did you just get out of the bath?”

“He must’ve run the water really hot.” Reiner chuckles, falling on his back with a contented sigh. 

Armin's dumbstruck with panic. What is this situation? They aren't going to leave, they've happily settled on his floor and he can't just throw them out without looking suspicious. More importantly, how will Annie leave? She's stuck in his–

The bathroom door bangs open and Annie walks out, arms heaped full with several towels and perched precariously on top are his shaving cream, shampoo, soap, toothpaste and aftershave. 

The three intruders gape in shock as she crosses the room and nudges the door open using her foot. "Annie?! What are you doing here?" Reiner asks. 

Her voice is as cool and emotionless as Armin knows she's livid with rage. "Some of my things got mixed up with his. Taking them back." He winces when she shoots him a withering glare and slams the door shut. 

Connie looks from the now closed door to Armin and back, highly puzzled. "That was your aftershave though…"

Jean is frowning at Armin's wrinkled bed, at the bathroom door and then at Armin himself, from head to toe. Armin sees the slow realisation dawn on his face and he fumes. First they steal his money, now they steal his privacy? He picks up his pillow and flings it into Jean's face. When it falls down to the floor, Jean is bright red with understanding and he opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. 

"A-Armin y-you… I'm– we're sorry–"

"That's the spirit!" Reiner guffaws and throws his pillow at Armin with such force, it knocks him back into his bed. 

"I forgot we used to do this back in the barracks!" Connie shouts with glee and attacks Jean and the once-quiet room erupts with raucous screaming and laughter.

Armin stays on the bed, staring at the ceiling while his energy leaves his body along with his soul. So this is his fate. He would either ruin it for himself, or the others would ruin it for him. He throws an arm over his eyes.

Annie’s probably going to kill him.

It’s four in the morning and once again, Annie’s awake. She hadn’t slept a whole lot anyway, and now it’s impossible. With a heavy sigh, she rolls out of the bed and pulls on several of the oversized shirts in the cupboard; she may have bought her own clothes yesterday, but she likes these, they’re warm, big, and comfortable.

Passing the boys’ corridor, she feels the anger well up inside her. She should have seen this coming. What’s the point of having a room to yourself if the idiots won’t leave you alone? They had been so loud, she wasn’t even able to fall asleep to forget about her racing heart and throbbing centre between her legs. She throws a particularly nasty look at the partially open door to Armin’s room – there’s sheets and blankets and pillows strewn all over and several limbs she can’t even tell belongs to who – before stomping down the stairs as loudly as she can and exiting the house.

The village looks different now, because she’s seen how it looks during the day. Dark corners are no longer dark, she notices the hidden steps to a side-door of a shop, or the little well where she had seen people drawing water, or the small house of an elderly couple nestled between two coffee shops. The wind chimes still tinkle pleasantly when the morning breeze rustles the branches of short trees. She walks all the way to the lake, stopping at the bridge to spend a few minutes by the water and observing the quiet cottages on the other side before climbing back home.

By the time she returns, she’s extremely hungry. She should’ve eaten more last night – but no, she had been too excited to be with Armin – and the pangs of hunger make themselves excruciatingly hard to ignore when she passes through the kitchen. Her brown paper bag – her bag of treasure – was lying by the cupboards, abandoned and torn. Ah yes. All the sweets she had spent money on, stolen by the same idiots who ruined her night. She was so angry when she went back to her room last night that she considered making their lives very hard here in Kald; she had barely been able to relax from the wild mixture of extreme anger and extreme desire pooling between her legs that she then had to solve on her own.

Annie approaches the bag with dismay. There’s nothing in it. Of course there’s nothing in it. They had eaten everything. She picks it up, chucks it into the bin and moves to leave the kitchen when a small brown bundle on the corner of the counter catches her eye.

It’s the same paper as her bag and opening it, she finds a croissant, a cherry biscuit and a raspberry cake. 

Did somebody not eat them? She wonders, putting them on a plate and taking it back to her room. Maybe they didn’t like it?

In any case, Annie’s stomach feels full and happy half an hour later when she drifts off into a nap. 

Chapter Text

Six days in, and this has become a routine. Wake up far too early because sleep will no longer come, kick off thick blankets puffy with long-contained warmth, insert herself into clothes much too large yet much too comfortable, descend stairways across several rooms – some quiet and some noisy with the sounds of sleep – slip her socked feet into a pair of shoes she had claimed for herself, and step out into the dark, cold mornings of Kald.

Routines are good. Annie likes them. Something to ground herself with, a discipline to maintain when her mind decides to go speeding without brakes with all kinds of thoughts, good and bad. It’s getting easier to keep track of all the different directions her inner-ramblings take, and as always, she does a good job of keeping them exactly where they belong – inside, never outside – but sometimes, it gets too much. Routines are great for then, she can think about them, think of what she did and what she can change next time. 

Today is no different and Annie pulls on two oversized shirts over her hoodie before trudging down the stairs. Her movements and steps are quickly becoming second nature and she’s beginning to get used to this a little too fast – stairwell, kitchen, sitting room, foyer, main door. 

But this morning, she stops at the last step into the kitchen because it isn’t dark as usual; the dim overhead lamp by the sink is on, and half the source of her wildly beating heart stands there, warming a glass of water. It notices her and gifts her with a lazy smile tinged with all the honesty of just having woken up from sleep.

“Good morning, Annie.” 

His morning voice – a little broken, a little rough, a little deeper, a little more air and less sound – makes her heart skip several beats. She didn't see him at all yesterday; he was gone when she woke up from her post-walk nap and still hadn’t returned when her bedside clock showed ten. Ahh now, this is embarrassing. She had thought Armin too soft, too sentimental, and sometimes also a sap, and here she is now, becoming all those things herself. 

She missed him so badly. For one day. Pathetic.  

"Morning," Annie mumbles, idling by the stairs. "When did you get back last night?" 

"Sometime around eleven, I think," He says, in that same raspy voice, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "It was a long day."

"You look tired," She notes, crossing over to where he's leaning on the counter. "Didn't sleep well?"

Armin shakes his head with a smile. "Somewhat." And then, because he's just noticed her attire, "Going for a walk?"

"Yeah," She takes his empty glass to refill it for him, and leans against the table to watch him drink. With the overhead light radiating a soft warmth around them, she looks down at their feet. Very close. She can take a step forward and her feet will be between his. 

It's comforting, having him standing opposite her in the kitchen at four in the morning, bedraggled and groggy, drinking warm water from a glass she refilled. It feels like something she should savour by the second; if she looks away, it might be gone. It feels like… home. It is home. The more she stares at his tousled hair reflecting the light, or the wrinkles in his shirt and pants, or the curl of his fingers around the rim and body of the glass, the more Annie feels herself disliking the idea of closing the front door all alone.

“Want to come with me?” She asks, and he raises his eyes mid-sip to look at her. She suspects that he can clearly see the hope written all over her face. Armin smiles into his glass and gulps the rest of the water in one-go before straightening his back. There’s so much affection in the drowsy curl of his lips and sleep-ridden eyes that she feels too hot, like the two layers she had pulled on not moments ago will now scorch her skin.

“Yeah. I’d love that,” He says softly. “But let me put on something warmer, be right back.” And he climbs the stairs in a hurry, his movements becoming less sluggish with each step. 

When he comes back down in a sweater and a coat that stops just shy of his knees, he looks more awake and very, very excited – like a little child going on a picnic – and she has to suppress a snort. Annie watches him pull on his shoes in the foyer while she stands by the shoe cabinet, shuffling her feet. Ahh. Now her routine is no longer strictly hers. But maybe her walks don’t have to be alone. Armin stands up with a broken yawn and they exit the house together. 

The cold outside instantly seeps into their bones and Annie shoves her hands into her pockets as they cross the small garden and step onto the street. The soft thuds of their feet are just one among a myriad of quiet sounds normal for this hour of the day. Short, quick, light steps are accompanied by longer, slower and heavier steps. She doesn’t even realise she’s walking much ahead of him when they pass two houses and he reaches to tug on the crook of her bent elbow to slow her down.

“I’m cold,” Armin says, sniffling, the sleep leaving his eyes with every passing second. “Give me your hand.”

Annie offers her left hand which he takes in his right, intertwining their fingers and pressing a kiss on her knuckles. And then, he pushes their conjoined hands into his coat pocket, dragging her close, flush to his side. “Now I’m warm.” He grins and Annie turns her chin away to hide a blush. She’ll never get used to this side of him.

They walk down the dimly-lit deserted street, but at a much slower pace. Annie gets so lost in the picture of his feet now in step with hers that she almost misses the circle he massages into his temple with his other hand. 

“Headache?”

“Just a little.”

“Then you shouldn’t be out here in this cold,” She frowns. “Let’s go back.”

“No, no, it’s very mild,” Armin shakes his head reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“If you get sick–”

“I won’t get sick,” He insists with a laugh and squeezes her fingers inside his pocket. Ah, it’s so warm, she doesn’t even feel the cold biting other parts of her skin anymore. The sky is still pitch dark and the streetlamps dotting their path flicker every now and then. She doesn’t really mean to be so obvious about it, but she leans into his side, their footsteps slow and relaxed.

“Mmm, I missed you,” Armin whispers into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “When I came back last night, you were already asleep, I think. ”

"I stayed up waiting," She admits in a small voice, because this is unbearably embarrassing to say out loud but it will probably make him happy – and it does, if she’s not hallucinating the smile in her hair – "But I drifted off." 

“Sorry,” Another kiss. “I didn’t think it would take that long, honestly. Jean was exhausted too.”

“What did you do?” She asks, as the houses on either side of the street end, and the shops begin. The low branches of the trees lining the street tickle their hair with tender green leaves.

Armin hums deeply. “Hmmm, well, the Chancellor discussed the terms of rehabilitation for the refugees. Things like, a subsidy scheme where they can buy their necessities at lower prices for a period of time – we agreed on three months – until they integrate into society here and find jobs or start their own businesses. We allocated government funds to tide them over until then. And then… agreements for citizenship permits. They’re all Kaldians now,” He chuckles. “There were so many documents to sign for all of this.”

“You signed them?”

“Yeah,” He sighs heavily and she wonders why it sounds less like a sigh of exhaustion and more like one of self-doubt. “Two signatures on every sheet of paper – one of the Chancellor’s and one of mine. It was… new.”

Puzzled, she looks up at him, and he raises his eyebrows. “But you’ve signed reports before, haven’t you? I listened to your pen-scratch for hours on end sometimes when you visited me in the crystal.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I did… but I signed simply as the one who wrote those reports. Not as… anyone else.” Another sigh, this time a little shaky in its escape from his mouth.

Oh. So he had to sign as Commander this time. 

“Must have been tiring,” She says quietly and squeezes his fingers in the simplest gesture of comfort she can think of on the spot. “You could have called me. I would have helped you.”

Armin bumps into her shoulder with a grateful smile. “It’s alright. It’s all boring work, I didn’t want to bother you with it, or anyone else. Jean was only there because he offered to sign as a second signatory and representative from Paradis.”

“Even so,” She chews her lip. “I would’ve still helped you. Maybe you could’ve come home earlier.”

Armin pauses under a dim street light for a brief moment to cradle her head with his free hand and kiss her temple. “Thank you,” He murmurs and Annie’s eyes fall closed. His lips are hot on her chilly skin. “Next time, I’ll call you.”

They continue down the street in slow steps, passing by the grocers. Somewhere, an owl hoots and a dog barks. Dull orange lights begin to glow from within a few of the closed windows; a sign of preparations beginning for another busy day of business. 

“There’s something a bit concerning though,” Armin says when they cross the shoemaker’s. “The refugees...”

“What about them?”

“They haven’t crossed the lake once. None of them have visited the village here. Or rather, none of the residents of Liberio, at least.”

What? Annie turns to him, bewildered and he returns it with a puzzled expression of his own.

“Yeah, I know. The Chancellor’s been to see them, once. But for some reason they haven’t left the cottages in all these six days.”

“Not even my father?”

He shakes his head. “Not even your father. Or Pieck’s father, or Reiner’s mother.”

“But… why?”

He falls silent, his thumb gently stroking hers, and Annie lets him think as she mulls over the possible reasons herself. Her father had assembled and brought the refugees to Fort Salta, why would he not encourage them to explore the village? They pass by the row of bakeries from the insides of which waft the sweet aroma of freshly baked breads. Annie turns up the collars of her many shirts when a mildly cold breeze blows past, and Armin does the same. He draws a deep breath before speaking.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure if I’m right, but I have a rough idea.”

“So why?”

He gives her a sad smile. “It is a little unfortunate that the settlements just happen to be separated from the village by a lake.”

But Annie simply furrows her brows in confusion, so he continues. 

“They’ve lived in the internment zone all their lives. Packed into that small place like inferior-grade cattle, never allowed to go outside without the armband and a permit. And beyond the gates, there were no friendly faces,” He glances at her, watching the slow realisation dawn over her face. “What do you think that would’ve done to people who never left there?”

“A fear of going out.” She says and he nods. 

“Yes, and–” He clears his throat. “A fear of the people beyond the gates, fear of poor treatment, fear of being attacked, fear of being hated. We may be in a friendly country now, but they’re probably scared to venture outside and it doesn’t help that there’s a lake separating them from the rest of the people.”

“Hmm,” Annie lets her eyes roam over the dark street where fallen leaves blow over the grey pavement. “You can talk to them. Tell them it’s okay to cross over.”

Armin squeezes her fingers again. “Only if I’m right. But anyway, we have to go over today; it’s long overdue. I was thinking after breakfast. We have to distribute the money allocated for them and get them to sign their citizenship permits. You three can see your parents and maybe we’ll find out what they’re scared of here.”

“Okay,” Annie says, resting her head on his shoulder. Walking with him is relaxing her muscles instead of warming them up. Feeling far too comfortable with her hand inside his toasty pocket and their lazy pace down the deserted street, her heart sighs long and deep in satisfaction. This is nice. This is more than nice. She can really get used to this.

“How far do you go?” He asks, when they turn a winding corner. “To the end of the market?”

“Upto the lake,” Annie replies. “To where the bridge begins, actually.”

They walk past newspaper stands and coffee shops, past florists and confectioneries, past a water well and a bamboo-goods store. The street is still empty and their light footfalls on the cobblestone echo softly in the otherwise quiet road. Three quarters of the way down, and Armin switches to her other side with the sugary sweet excuse that his other hand needs warming up. Oh no. She’s liking this a little too much.

A rhythmic squeaking cuts into the silence, drawing their attention to the very end of the market below, where a person in a large, conical straw hat appears to be struggling to push a cart uphill.

“Looks like they need help,” Annie says and Armin agrees, already walking toward the person, dragging Annie along. "Excuse me," He calls as they approach. "Can we help you with that?"

The person looks up in surprise – it's a woman with kindly eyes and a heavily wrinkled face – and breaks into a bright smile. “Oh my! Why, thank you!” And then, noticing Annie’s arm half inside Armin’s coat, claps her hands together. “Would you look at you two! Out on an early morning date!”

Annie feels her face turn scarlet, but Armin’s chuckling good-naturedly through the faint pink on his cheeks, and it pisses her off. He should be more embarrassed about these things! He shouldn’t be laughing happily like that! She feels cold and lonely when he lets go of her hand to push the cart from below, and with a sigh, she takes hold of the top and they roll it uphill, with the woman walking beside.

It’s only when another mild breeze blows open the straw sheet covering the cart, that the pleasant fruity aroma of chocolate lifts into the air. Annie looks inside to see rows and rows of glass bottles containing rich brown coloured powder. 

“It smells wonderful,” Armin says from below, inhaling deeply.

“Oh, it’s cocoa powder.” The woman laughs, looking very pleased. “It's a fresh batch! I run a confectionery by the newspaper stands. I just found the cart a little too heavy to take uphill this morning, I'm so thankful for your help."

"It's no problem," Annie says, filling her lungs with the chocolatey scent. The bottles clink around as the squeaky wheels roll over the heavily textured stone paving. “This is heavy for one person.”

"You know," The lady glances between Armin and Annie with an appreciative smile. "Looking at you two reminds me of when I was younger. I started selling chocolates when I was twenty, and this young man would drop by every morning to buy some. He came every day for seven months before he mustered up the courage to ask me out!”

Annie catches Armin’s gaze. He’s looking at her. And she can’t look away.

"It turns out that when I visited his house one day, he had jars and jars of chocolate put away on his shelves. He had bought so much he could no longer eat them." She laughs fondly.

Her breath hitches in her throat. He’s not smiling, but his eyes… There’s something within, and in the air, like charges of soft electricity, and she can’t look away. Her eyes feel hot. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’s grateful for the distance the cart puts between them. It’s love, in his eyes, and maybe in hers too. Maybe he sees it. Love and…

"Six months after that, he proposed and we got married!" The lady continues to gush. "And now we run the shop together. We've been married for fifty years now…"

"That's amazing," Armin says softly, eyes still locked with Annie’s. She drowns out the woman’s voice; there’s only the two of them there under the streetlight. Love and… and now there’s something else inside the brilliant blue, something… she can’t understand. What is that? Her heart hammers wildly inside her ribcage. Why does it look deeper, larger and much, much bigger than this moment? 

She swallows and turns away, breaking the spell.

"... Oh how wonderful it is to be young and in love," The woman halts under the awning of a small, dainty looking shop. "This is my little shop. You can leave it here, dear."

"Alright." Annie says and her voice comes out awfully breathy. Angling the cart right next to the wooden door, she lets go. "Do you need any more help?" She ignores Armin when he stands next to her, sniffling from the cold.

"No no my dear, I'll be alright now,” The woman beams. “Oh, do you two want some cocoa powder?" She clasps her hands, looking eagerly between the both of them. "This is the perfect weather for hot chocolate, after all." 

Annie glances furtively at the shiny bottles. If it smells so good, then it probably tastes heavenly. The growl of her stomach is almost louder than anything else in the street when Armin bursts into laughter and drowns out the sounds of her hunger – shit, he's caught her looking. 

"Thank you, we’ll take one," Armin says, grinning at Annie with a knowing look. "Ah, but wait," he pats his pockets. "I didn't bring my wallet…"

The lady swats his worry away with an animated hand, pressing a gleaming jar into his hands. "Nonsense! This is for your wonderful help."

"But we can't possibly take this for free," Armin protests. 

“Young man, take it!” She scolds, but not without humour. “Whenever this pretty lady sees red, one cup of this ought to do the trick.” And he chuckles in amusement. 

Blushing severely, Annie scowls at the both of them but Armin’s clearly enjoying himself at her expense. He nods at the lady, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” He takes Annie’s hand again, much to her mortification, and draws her back down the path. “We’ll get going now.”

The lady waves at them, calling, “Enjoy your date, you two! Come by sometime!”

Annie grimaces when he waves back over his shoulder. “You just go along with what everyone says,” She complains. “Why did you–”

Armin throws an arm around her shoulder as they approach the last of the shops. “Is she wrong though?” He playfully knocks his head with hers. “We are on a date.” 

She goes quiet, stiff as a board in his half-embrace.

“A date you asked me out on,” He sings sweetly. “I thought I’d have to take all the first steps, but here you are Annie, leading–mmph!” Annie slaps a hand over his mouth and he laughs into her palm. 

“You’re never coming with me again,” She grumbles but releases her hold when he slips the jar of cocoa inside her pockets. “You’re annoying.”

“That's upsetting. I thought you liked this,” Armin sighs in mock-disappointment. “What with how you snuggled into me–”

Her fierce glower shuts him up but it doesn’t wipe the teasing grin off his face and he ends up stealing a kiss from her lips.

The two emerge onto the wider road and veer off the stone and onto the meadows where the grass, still damp and wet from the dew, crunches under their shoes. The gentle ripple and gurgle of water from the lake washes into Annie’s ears, and the fog hanging low in the atmosphere almost obscures the cottages on the other side, save for the golden pinpricks of light that somehow make their way across. They stop just shy of the steps to the bridge and huddle closer to share body heat, breathing in clean and crisp air and letting it fill their lungs, and Annie remembers how sharp in contrast it is to what they breathed in Fort Salta, or even in Paradis, when the walls fell. 

Armin shifts to stand behind her and this time, he chooses her pockets instead, carefully slipping his hands inside and resting his chin on the top of her head. Annie relaxes, dropping her weight back into his upper body and follows his hands, gently tracing his wrist bones and knuckles as she covers them. If there ever was a heaven, this has to be it. Here, by the shoreline of a serene lake, with the one boy she’d always yearned to be with. 

“You know, those cottages,” Armin starts, his chin moving against her scalp when he speaks, and tickling her in the process. “Once belonged to people who left Kald for Marley, in search of better jobs and money. They’ve been empty for a long time.”

Annie squints at the faint glow of lights from beyond; one of those must belong to her father. “They’re never coming back.”

“No.” His voice is solemn. “Now the cottages are no more empty, but full of people who are traumatised about their very existence and scared to venture out… well, if I’m right, that is.” 

She presses into the dips between his knuckles inside her pockets. “What will you do? A speech?”

Armin exhales into her hair and she wishes she could see his face. “I don’t think a speech will be enough to… strip their fear.”

“Then what?”

He goes quiet, but she can hear the wheels in his head turning. Thinking. Of some way – a better way – to show them, convince them once and for all, that they will not be spit on and stepped on like they were in Marley. He’s silent for so long that she almost begins to feel drowsy, but then he peels away from her back, startling her.

“Come with me,” He says, pulling on her elbow and she lets him lead her up the steps and onto the bridge.

“Are we going across?” She asks, surprised, as the wooden planks creak under their feet. The bridge is much bigger than it looked, now that she’s on it. And despite the squeaks and groans, the planks are strong and sturdy with no sign of weakness whatsoever. 

“No, I just want to…” He trails off without a proper explanation, leaving her perplexed. But she doesn’t mind. It’s okay if it’s with him. Anything is okay with him, even crossing the bridge to the cottages for the first time before the sun peeks above the horizon. His fingers circling her wrist are gentle and firm and everything in between. 

The bridge is also much longer than she thought it to be, although it could be the fog contributing to her poor sense of distance. But the small amber hued lights grow brighter, bigger and sharper, and she thinks any moment now, the cottages will come into clear view.

But he stops abruptly and she smashes into his back. 

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Armin chuckles, rubbing the nose she gingerly holds. But he’s distracted, looking this way and that, and down at their feet.

“What is it?” Annie tries not to sound annoyed.

“Do you think this is the middle of the bridge?” He wonders aloud. 

“Uh, yeah it might be,” She replies, puzzled as to why this is important, what they’re doing here, but still looking to their left toward the village and to the right, where the cottages are. “Hard to tell though, with all this fog.”

“Hmm. Assuming it is,” He tugs on her wrist, maneuvering her to a spot in the middle of one plank, a little more chipped on the edges than the others. “Stand here.”

She does, but cocks her head with a frown. “What for? What are we doing here anyway?”

He tries very hard to hide a bashful smile but fails miserably and then gives up, aligning his feet on the next board, to stand directly in front of her. 

“I just,” He laughs softly. “Wanted to kiss you here.”

Oh god, Annie thinks, turning pink. She should really get more used to rolling her eyes whenever he becomes like this instead of just blushing like an idiot in front of him. 

“You wanted to kiss me,” She repeats, keeping her voice monotone. Armin nods. “Here, in the middle of the bridge in a fog we can barely see through.” He nods again, blue eyes shining, and happy smile infectious.  

Annie sighs, hyper aware that he’s enjoying her reddening cheeks. Well, it's probably romantic. She should maybe get used to this too. She looks down at their feet, both on different planks, but shoes touching at their toes. Armin drags her closer by the waist and kisses her nose before peppering her face all over with little pecks and she begins to laugh, squirming.

“Seriously!” She giggles, trying to shove him away but he pulls her arms over his shoulders – and of course, she complies, keeping them there. “Armin, you–”

His lips land on hers and she forgets everything she wants to say, lifting on her toes and pressing into him. The soft warmth between his lips is enough to drive off any of the chill remaining on her skin. It's sweet, it's tender, it's loving and she's enveloped in his affections with each caress of his mouth against hers. She can breathe him in and she breathes into him. 

She drops back on her heels, breaking the kiss and he looks satisfied and content, but still keeping her close. She studies his face, appreciating the arch of his brow bone, the perfect set of his eyes, the perk of his nose, the permanent redness on the tip, his philtrum, the shape of his lips, his smooth chin… does she really have him? Is he really hers? For good? Forever? 

“What are you staring for,” He chuckles, a little self-conscious, and she shifts her attention to what she likes best – the beautiful neptune-blue of his eyes. And she loses herself there, for how long she doesn’t know, except that it doesn’t feel long enough. She’s only brought out of her daze when he closes his eyes and rubs his nose against hers.

“I love you too, Annie,” He whispers and Annie blinks rapidly, caught off-guard, heart beating fast.

“... I– I didn’t even say it…” She stammers, but he just smiles, eyes still closed, nose still with hers.

“You don’t have to say it. I know.”

She likes this. She loves this. All of it. Every second. 

“Shall we go home?” His voice is full of love, when he pulls away. “We can try out the hot chocolate.” He pats her bulky pocket where the jar sits. 

She can really get used to this, but it means she’ll never want to walk alone anymore.

“Okay.”

On their way back, they stop to pet a friendly cat and Annie marvels at how soft the fur feels under her fingers. They listen to the tinkle of wind chimes and pluck flowers from the low overhanging branches of cherry blossom trees. He hums quietly, and Annie, intrigued by the picture of Armin carrying a tune, pushes him into singing a few lines of So ist es Immer. It takes them both back to their years of training on Paradis, when the days were long and arduous, and the nights were cheerful and merry. By the time they step off the pavement and into the garden of their house, Annie's laughing when Armin swings their hands wildly back and forth and her shoulder hurts. 

The house welcomes them back with an abundance of cozy heat and they take off their shoes in the foyer. He puts his shoes next to hers, beside the shoe rack, and exhales loudly as he takes off his coat and sweater. "I feel too sweaty for this now. I'll go heat the milk for the hot chocolate." And he leaves her in the foyer, staring at their shoes. 

Big shoes next to small shoes, a few centimetres apart. They're at least two inches larger than hers. She studies them with a blush. It looks so natural, having them side by side; as natural as having a beating heart or a set of lungs. It looks like… home. It is home.

She crouches down and pushes them together to close the gap between hers and his. The soles touch, and the ankles just barely. That's okay. This is better. Now there's no space in between that could have grown larger. She tucks her chin into her knees, gazing at the shoes and far lost in her thoughts that she doesn't hear Armin's footsteps approach the foyer. 

"Annie? What are you doing?" He reappears at the entrance, looking curious, and she scrambles to her feet, embarrassed. But it's too late, he's already seen her staring at their shoes – she can only hope he doesn't figure out why. 

"Nothing," She says nonchalantly, brushing past him and into the lit kitchen where she takes off her extra layers and dumps them over a chair. Two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sit next to the stove and the delicious smell and frothy swirl of the liquid causes her stomach to rumble. Armin re-enters the kitchen, and she surreptitiously observes his face for any sign of a smirk, but there's none. Maybe he hadn't seen her silly little doll-house play. That offers her some reassurance and she hops onto the counter and picks up a mug. 

He leans his back on the counter right next to her, sipping from his cup and sighing deeply in appreciation. “This is divine.” Annie hums in agreement. It does taste divine. Possibly even better, and she revels in the warm journey the creamy drink takes from her mouth to her stomach, sending little waves of comfort to all her extremities. The sky is still dark outside, the house is still quiet, and they’re alone in the kitchen – she’s more than grateful for some more time with him. 

“You like it?” He picks up the jar of cocoa and turns it over in his palm, reading the label. 

“Yeah,” She nods, her vision half obscured by the steam rising from her cup. “But it’s not going to last when the others find it.” Sad, really. The jar, no bigger than the size of her hand, would be empty in a matter of days.

At this, Armin twists his head to face her with a twinkle in his eye. “Maybe… they don’t have to find it.” Annie blinks at him.

“Maybe,” He continues, pushing off from the counter and screwing the lid of the jar back on. “We can hide it somewhere. It’ll be just for the both of us.”

She scoffs, taking a big noisy sip, locking her ankles where they dangle above the floor. “Where would you hide it here? They’ll find it without fail.”

“But they may not,” He remarks, pulling an overhead cupboard open and inspecting the insides. His shirt hikes up momentarily revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his pants and Annie feels her heart skip a beat. Ahh, now. It’s too early in the morning for this. “There’s a bunch of dusty champagne glasses here. I’m putting it behind them.” He rattles the contents around before shutting the door with a click and returning to her side, but now, he faces her, just standing shy of her knees. 

“There,” He grins proudly. “Now it’s our secret.” 

"If someone finds it, you're to blame…" Annie's voice fills with air when he leans in close to graze his lips on her cheekbone, his palms resting flat against the cool surface of the counter on her either side.

"You've got a chocolate mustache," He murmurs against her skin, and her eyes fall closed to the gentle tap of his fingers on her kneecaps. That’s all it takes for her knees to spread open and invite him to stand between. 

"I don't," She whispers, because she doesn't, she knows it. "You're just making that up." And to this, his lips ghost down her rapidly flushing cheeks with a quiet laugh. 

"False accusations," He breathes, smiling, and Annie shivers when his tongue flicks on the corner of her mouth. “There’s… a lot to clean up, here,” He drags the tip of his tongue over her upper lip. “And here,” Along her lower lip, and she’s vaguely worried about her half-full cup of hot chocolate swinging dangerously from her fingers – but when he takes it away from her and places it somewhere on the counter with an audible clatter, she brings her palms up to cup his jaw and pull him in for a proper kiss.

It should embarrass her that the little smacks of their kissing echo around them and in her ears. But he tastes like chocolate, and he smells like chocolate and the slide of his tongue along hers makes her thoughts go fuzzy and her spine curl backwards into a comma. His eyelashes flutter on her skin when he tilts his head deeply to kiss her harder, and her fingers find purchase in his hair, tugging each time he makes her whimper into the cavity of his mouth.

He pulls away, eyelids heavy with desire, and presses his forehead against hers. 

“I’m glad,” He says, trying to steady his breath and tucking wayward locks of her hair behind her ear. “That you’re not angry with me.”

She frowns in confusion, hands sliding down his neck to rest on his shoulders. “Why would I be angry?”

He brushes a thumb across her lower lip, looking hesitant. “We got interrupted… last time. I thought you’d be angry. I’m sorry.”

Oh, that. Annie sighs, the heels of her feet kicking into the wooden cabinets below. It wasn't his fault anyway. They’d been quiet. They’d locked the door. Maybe she should have summoned up the common sense to turn the lights off, instead of becoming tongue-tied when he’d stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair and steam rising from his skin. She should have been more focused on hiding their presence inside his room instead of allowing herself to be intoxicated by the clean and sharp scent of his neck. Anyway, he wasn’t to blame and she tells him as much.

“It wasn’t your fault,” She says, brushing the hair out of his eyes. They’ve grown a little longer. “Just bad luck. And I wasn’t angry, I was just… annoyed and irritated and frus–” She bites her tongue a second too late.

Shit. No. He doesn’t have to know that.

But his curiosity is piqued and Annie really hopes she’s imagining the small curl of his lips. 

“Frus?” He questions softly. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” She squirms, casting her eyes down and away to the floor. 

“No, it was definitely something,” Armin tilts her chin up so she meets his eyes, dancing with mirth, and she curses under her breath. He knows. Of course he knows. “Frus?”

“If you know it already,” She mutters, her head falling backward, when he dips his head to tease that magic spot on her neck he’d discovered not long ago. “Then why–”

“Please tell me,” His hands slide along her outer thighs until they hook under her knees and tug her closer, to the very edge of the counter-top, until he’s right there, at the junction of her legs and she wraps them around his waist. Annie loses the fight.

“Frustrated… badly,” It’s so quiet she can barely hear herself, and Armin straightens his spine, looking pained at her honest admission, and digs his upper teeth into his lower lip. 

“You know what I was?” He asks, voice strained, pressing his hips into her and Annie flinches. 

“What?” She can barely get her voice out. 

“Angry and frustrated, but also–” He pauses, before ghosting his lips on the hinge of her jaw.

“Desperate.”

Annie’s mouth falls open in a silent cry when he travels down her neck, nipping and sucking everywhere he can find, and her hands ball up fistfuls of his shirt. Armin draws her legs higher around his waist and pleasure shoots through her limbs – his body feels so solid and hard between her thighs and she desperately wishes their clothes weren’t in the way. 

“Annie,” He murmurs between kisses and licks on her straining neck. “Can I… undo your shirt?” 

It doesn’t occur to her immediately where they are, so she nods weakly and he lets go of one of her thighs to reach up between them, and pull out the first button from its hole. All Annie can do is lock her ankles behind his back and cradle his head in her trembling palms, silky blond hair slipping through her fingers like water. 

One button, two buttons, three buttons, and Annie lets her shallow breaths escape into his hair with each flick of his nimble fingers.  His nose nudges her shirt open until where the fourth button ensures the rest of her chest stays covered and her skin prickles with goosebumps, both from his hot breath and the charged air around them. 

“A-ahh…” She whimpers when he trails his lips from the hollow of her collarbones to the beginning of her cleavage. He’s sparking all her nerve endings and making her legs quiver around his slim hips. Annie’s so embarrassed that he can see the rise and fall of her chest at level with his eyes and that’s when a little voice in her head clears through the cloud of pleasure and tells her exactly where they are.

“Armin,” She moans, raking through his soft locks as he gently slips the open collar of her shirt down her left shoulder. “We’re… in the k–kitchen–ah!” He traces a string of butterfly kisses from her neck to her bare shoulder and Annie squirms against his crotch. Since when was her shoulder this sensitive? she thinks, curling her toes into his tailbone.

“Mhmm,” His lips are focused on burning a path toward the swell of her breasts, just barely hidden by the rest of her intactly buttoned shirt.

“There…” She pauses, muffling a whine in his hair when he sucks just above her left breast. “Isn’t even a d–door here.” 

“I know,” He murmurs. “Just until the sun comes up.”

Until the sun comes up? That’s not very long, she thinks in a foggy haze, glancing out the window behind them where the once-dark sky is rapidly lightening in hue. She tries to warn him once again but is cut short when Armin’s teeth graze against the strap of her bra and she rubs into him, making him curl into her, forcing her back on a flat palm. 

Armin backs off, just very slightly, to admire his handiwork and Annie colours in several shades of red. His blue eyes pooling dark with need wander over her face, which she’s sure betrays every single spark of pleasure she feels; down her neck, where her collar sits, wide open and limp; across one exposed shoulder and down a thin black strap disappearing under the rest of her shirt. She doesn’t like it. She likes it. She feels too open. She wants to feel open. She doesn’t want him to see how much she wants him. She wants him to know exactly how much she wants him. 

He hooks a finger around her bra strap and Annie swallows a bundle of nerves, wondering if he’s going to slip it off her shoulder too, but he simply tugs on it before letting it gently snap back against her skin – she barely even feels it, but it’s all the teasing and his staring – and she gasps at the sensation, struggling to keep her remaining grip on his shoulders. 

“This,” Armin says softly, “Wasn’t there last time,” He pulls and snaps it back again, watching her lips let loose a sweet whine. 

Annie can barely make any sense of his words – not when he’s watching her like this , and coaxing her centre to throb with need with just one finger on her bra strap, of all things – but she tries, she really does, to focus, and when his statement passes through the heartbeat drumming wildly in her ears and to her cloudy brain, where somehow, it makes some sense, she holds his gaze with a light frown.

“Ah… well,” Her voice comes out pitched higher than normal. “I didn’t think… I mean, it would have come off anyway.”

“Mhmm,” He hums and this time, he grinds his hips back into her and Annie’s head falls back as bolts of ecstasy shoot through her core. Fuck. He’s so hard over there again, and it’s enough to make her hypersensitive to the wetness she knows has been collecting deep inside. 

“Did it bother you?” She manages to ask, eyes squeezed shut, when he continues to grind into her and her legs rise higher, hiking his shirt up in the process. Yes, yes. The heat of the skin on his hips permeates into her pants and she’s never felt more annoyed to be having them on.

Armin digs his fingers under her thighs and bites his lip, a furious blush high on his cheekbones. “Well, I was, ugh-” He ceases with a groan, clearly far too affected by their movements to speak coherently. “-Surprised. I always thought I’d be taking them off.”

It takes Annie a split second too long before his words really register in her head.

“Wait–” She rasps. “You always thought…?” 

Armin stills.

And now he loses confidence, the first signs of mortification and panic flitting through his handsome features. Annie’s heavy eyes grow wider as he searches for a reasonable explanation, but she’s got what she wanted.

“You… fantasized about me,” It’s a hushed whisper and it’s not a question. Armin opens and closes his mouth repeatedly before he drops his head with a heavy blow of air. “Since when?”

“Annie, th–that’s not–”

She extends her palms to take his cheeks between them, and with care, guides him to look at her. He does and she’s dying to tell his nervous eyes that she’s not disturbed by it.

“S–sorry,” He stutters. “It’s probably creepy–”

“I like it,” She says, and he blinks in shock. “Armin, I told you,” She gives him a chaste kiss. “Back on Fort Salta that… I thought of you that way. Well, I don’t think I told you exactly that but… I– I fantasized about you too.”

He seems to calm down – or maybe not, because his fingers scorch heat into her sensitive thighs the second the words are out of her mouth, and she has to struggle to not writhe against his hardened crotch – because he returns her innocent kiss with a sweeter one. But Annie still wants to know. “Since when?” She repeats.

“I– um,” His throat works. “A… a long time.”

“Years…?”

“Yes.”

She curls her fingers into the groove between the sharp hinge of her jaw and his neck, feeling extremely hot all over, and Armin watches her, his own embarrassment quickly fading to enjoy the sight of her looking very, very, bothered.

“And,” She says in a shaky whisper. “How did you… deal with it?”

“Deal with it?” He repeats, confused for half a second before it clicks. Softly, and with a little hesitance, he grinds into her again and she welcomes him back with a deeply laboured breath. "I thought of you.”

The very idea of him jerking off to her has Annie feverishly kissing him and he reciprocates with as much passion, licking into the roof of her mouth and swallowing her cries when he presses particularly hard, right there, right where she opens up and–

A loud thud from above their heads and the pink light flooding the kitchen through the fluttering curtains puts an end to everything.

Frustration. In his face and on hers, when he pulls away just enough to ruin the alignment of their hips. The irritated knit of his brows and the clench of his jaws mirrors her and it only makes her realise how desperate they both are. With a heavy sigh, Armin pulls the fallen sleeve of her shirt back over her shoulder and buttons it up while Annie catches her breath.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbles.

Armin shakes his head with the hint of a smile, putting a little distance between them, but still remaining between her legs. “Why? It’s not your fault. I started it.”

It should also embarrass her, probably, how much she wants to be closer to him, but she can’t find it in herself to let it bother her. Of course she wants to be closer to him. They’re okay. They’re alive. They have time. 

He wants to be closer with her too. He loves her.

Which reminds her of the shaky sighs that left his mouth earlier in the morning.

“Does it bother you? Being Commander?” She asks, and Armin looks at her, heavily surprised at the sudden question.

“That came out of nowhere.”

“Does it?” She prods. “You seem to dislike it, being called that.”

He doesn't say anything, swishing his lips about and gathering tension down his frame. His hands curl into fists on her hips and he avoids her eyes. 

“Armin.”

“I do dislike it.” He admits quietly, hanging his head. “I’m not sure I can– do any justice to the title. Commander Hange had to die to pass it to… me, of all people. And… and does it even matter?” His laugh is brittle and uncertain, shoulders hunching tight. “There's no Survey Corps on Paradis anymore. Only Mikasa, Jean, Connie, Captain Levi and… myself. That’s just five people. What’s the point in being called the Commander of a non-existent regiment?”

Annie watches him fiddle with the handle of the mug where her half-drunk hot chocolate still remains, probably cold now. 

“There is no Commander,” He mutters, eyes downcast, knuckles white on the rim of the cup. 

This hurts. This hurts so much. This is a pain she’s not used to dealing with and it hurts. 

But she loves him back doesn’t she?

“Armin,” She calls and he looks up with teary eyes. Annie opens her arms and legs wide, beckoning him into a hug. “Come here.”

Thankfully, he does, without a sound, and buries his face into her shoulder, arms circling her waist with a pressure she’s never felt from him before. She wraps herself around him fully. Legs back around his waist, arms around his precious head, and cheek resting on his crown.

She had gone through hell and back to bring him back to her, alive.

“There is a Commander,” She begins, with as much kindness she can summon into her voice. “And it's you. And it doesn't matter how small the Survey Corps is. You still left your homeland behind to save people you didn't know.”

He doesn’t say anything, and she squeezes all of him with all of her.

“You never see how good you are at the things you do. You got the guns pointing down, instead of at us, after the battle. You got us baths and Reiner stank less after that," Armin chuckles wetly into her shoulder and it makes her smile. She's doing something right, at least. 

"You spent sleepless nights writing letters to Kald. You got the train back on tracks. You brought us here."

Armin trembles in her arms. 

"You're a great Commander."

He goes limp and melts into her, and for once, she's able to hold him both gently and firmly. He's not crying heavily but there are wet eyelashes fluttering on her neck. He hugs her so tight that her ribs sting a little… and she marvels at the feeling, but she keeps her limbs wrapped around him hoping her body heat seeps into him and provides him some comfort like the way he always does to her. There’s only so much Annie knows to do, but she wants to learn more. For him, for the future when he cries again and needs comfort. 

The curtains tickle her back in a soft breeze and the chill of the rising sun travels down her back. Strands of his blond hair flutter into her face and she bathes in the quiet tranquillity of this moment, in the pink and gold kitchen. He's quiet for a few minutes before he speaks. 

"I have to get a seal made," His voice is muffled into her shoulder. "To append to the documents I signed and… to affix on top of future signatures."

"Okay," Annie whispers into his hair, combing the smooth locks into place. "And?"

"It needs to have a symbol or… a logo," Armin sniffs, clearing his throat. "And I don't know what to–"

Her reply is immediate. "Use the Wings of Freedom."

He shakes his head. "... I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because," He tries to pull back but she doesn't let him, so he stays put. "The symbol will represent all six of us, and you, Pieck and Reiner are… warriors, I can't…"

"We don't have a symbol though."

"Yeah, that's why I don't know what to–"

"We had an armband. Red. It had a… star, I think. It was meant to make us happy, but it was a symbol of death imposed on us by Marley. You think any of us would want to use that?"

"..."

"I don't mind the Wings of Freedom. Reiner was even part of the Scouts for a while. And Pieck… I don't think she'd mind either. None of us were proud to wear that star."

"Annie…"

"We weren't happy in Marley, Armin. Reiner and I. But we were happy in Paradis."

He relents, squeezing her back and some of the tension leaves his back. She sighs with relief. Finally. 

"Alright."

"Good. When do you have to get it made?"

He nuzzles his nose into her neck and his breaths tickle her skin. "In two days. So that we can process the citizenship permits and give them back. But today's going to be busy, we have to go over to the cottages and… there's a lot of work to be done there."

Annie hums into the side of his head, breathing in the mild scent of his shampoo. "I'll go to the stamp maker, if you want. The symbol is on your cloak."

"Yes, but, it's alright, I'll find some time, you don’t have to–"

"Armin," She grumbles, annoyed at his continuing bad habit to do everything by himself. "I can do it. Where's your cloak?"

He chuckles into her neck – he should know by now that she can be a little stubborn herself – and splays his fingers across her shoulder blades. "Bottom shelf of my cupboard."

Thuds and coughs and doors opening from upstairs. 

"Okay."

"An inch and a half in size. The seal, I mean."

"Alright."

Muffled voices over their heads. “Reiner, let me borrow your toothpaste.”

"The others are waking up, you know." 

"I know." 

She'd promised to be his home too.

And she doesn't have to say the three words. He'll know if he looks into her eyes, won't he? 

Annie pries his face away from her shoulder and holds it firmly between her palms close to her face. Nose to nose. His bright blue eyes, a little moist, vulnerable and naked, stare into hers, curious, studying, and searching. So she tries. Tries to tell him this time too, and he sees it, because his lips pull apart with that beautiful smile she loves so much.

"Commander."

Chapter Text

The lake is blue where the spring sky falls into it, and white where puffy clouds float peacefully by. The weather is wonderful this morning and Armin breathes deep lungfuls of the fresh air. With each inhale and exhale and each step forward on the wooden planks, he feels more alive. It’s like being a child again, when the world is brand new, full of wonder and mysterious things. His eyes sweep across the wide expanse of water on either side, taking in the ripples dotting the smooth surface every now and then, the flock of ducks swimming under the bridge and emerging to his right, and the reflection in the water of birds flying high in the sky. 

In front of him stretches more than three quarters of the bridge. The day is more or less clear, but the clouds still hang low, shrouding much of the mountains behind the cottages in the distance in soft white and out of sight. If he listens carefully, he swears he can hear loud cries and shrieks of laughter that can only belong to children.

So many sounds to listen to – the birds, their singing and the flutter and flapping of their wings; the quack of the ducks; the serene gurgle of lake water; the rustle of morning breeze through the branches of distant trees that grow larger as he gets closer; the croaking of frogs; the heavy footsteps of the others around him and… a dull rumbling he can’t quite pinpoint the source of. 

In Armin’s arms is a black cardboard box containing the two hundred and odd citizenship permits to hand out to the refugees. Signatures would be needed from those who had one and inked fingerprints from those who didn’t. Then he would have to stamp them with his seal, something Annie told him she would take care of obtaining. And then there was money to be given around, some checking up to be done on how they were doing… and the other thing. 

Truthfully, he’s more anxious than he’s letting on. He’ll talk to them, of course, try to convince them out of their fear. But what if that doesn’t work? What if they stubbornly decide to be stuck on this scrap of land forever – as beautiful as it might be, sandwiched between mountains and a lake – it won’t benefit anybody. They have to integrate with the country. They need to be able to call this home. And so… if it comes down to it… how is he going to get them to cross?

Well, he has a plan. But… it’s just… as always, he has very little confidence in it. It might as well be a grand gesture with little merit.

“So, did all of you decide this morning to punish me for something?” Jean grumbles from behind and Armin turns with an amused smile. “Why am I carrying this alone ?”

“What do you mean, alone ?” Pieck asks, voice delightfully mirthful. “I’m right here. I’m hurt, Jean.”

Jean and Pieck share the weight of a large wooden trunk, each gripping a heavy brass handle on either end. With each footstep, the trunk jangles loudly with the heavy clink of coins. 

Grinning wide, Connie turns and walks backward, hands behind his head. “Sorry. We couldn’t pass up this opportunity to make the Horse and the Cart carry our stuff, together.” Reiner chortles from the front.

Jean splutters, looking furious. “Really Connie?! You want to do this, right now?!”

“Oh it’s no secret,” Pieck sings. “I know all about your fame as the Stallion of Paradis.” Even Annie can’t hide her chuckle at this and Armin’s heart soars. It’s always a heaven-sent sight to see her laugh.

“What?!” Jean snaps. “Which one of you morons told her that?!”

“Noooobody.” Reiner shrugs, eyes twinkling. Armin turns back to face front, laughing quietly.

Jean growls. “I swear Reiner, your death by my hands is long overdue–”

“But Jean,” Pieck interrupts, with a mock sigh of disappointment. “I’m so very hurt . Are you that disgusted to share work with me?”

“N– I mean yes! You’re extremely bothersome!”

“Are you suuure?”

“Yes.” His reply is muttered with so much annoyance that Connie snorts.

“So then why ,” Pieck’s lilting voice rises an octave with apparent joy. “Is my side of the trunk surprisingly light? It’s almost like you’re lugging most of the weight, Jean.”

All eyes turn toward the pair, where Jean gapes at Pieck, rapidly colouring several shades of red, at a complete loss for words, before he notices the others staring and drops the trunk with a loud thud. A second passes before Reiner erupts in guffaws and Connie begins to whistle loudly.

“I– I wasn’t–!”

“Busted,” Reiner gasps in between fits of laughter. “So much for pretending to dislike her.”

“I never said I disliked her,” Jean mutters under his breath, picking up the trunk, and Pieck laughs good-naturedly.

“I’m flattered. If you don’t mind me saying, I do have a soft spot for men with beards.”

“And why do you want me to know that?!”

Reiner bends over, howling, and Connie hoots into the air. Armin shares an amused glance with Annie before she looks away, smiling. It’s good not to be the target of teasing… for once. 

“Come on, you guys,” Armin calls, continuing on. “Let’s get going.”

The bridge is deceivingly long – something he hadn’t noticed very well in the early hours of this morning with the fog thick in the air – and they’re only halfway through. With each plank he crosses, he keeps watch for the one with chipped edges where he’d stood with Annie a few hours ago, and– ah yes, there it is. Is it really the middle? He looks back and forth, squinting. Maybe not quite, it's a little off by a few feet. But that doesn’t matter. The six of them step over the chipped board and continue forth. 

The cottages grow larger and the faint rumbling Armin kept hearing earlier… is louder, and he frowns. What is that? At this distance he can make out several small figures chasing each other by the shoreline of the lake. Smoke rises from a few chimneys, dissolving into the misty clouds not too far above a row of thick trees behind the quaint houses. 

"I wonder how those four boys are doing," Reiner wonders aloud. 

"Me too." Connie replies. 

"Those kids who invited us to the dance at Fort Salta?" Pieck asks, sounding surprised. "You're close with them?"

"Somewhat," Jean laughs. "We uh... spent an afternoon playing with them."

"What did you do?" 

"Racing," Connie chuckles. "All because of one kid that was injured. Oh, you tended to his twisted ankle, remember, Annie? He told us so."

"... Yeah," Annie hums. "I remember. Orphans, right?"

"Right." Armin says quietly. 

"Someone's probably looking after them, don't worry." Jean reassures. "I wonder if that's them over there? Playing by the water?"

Reiner squints forward but clicks his tongue. "I don't think so. These kids look younger."

"By the way," Pieck pipes up. "Is it just me or do you all hear a… roaring?"

"I hear it too," Armin turns, nodding at Pieck. "For a while now, but I can't make out what it is." Everyone falls silent, footsteps soundless, the gentle chink of coins the only man-made sound. 

"It sounds like…" Annie trails off, listening closely. "Water."

"Water?" Connie looks puzzled. "But it's not the lake."

"No, it's like," Annie frowns in concentration, cocking her head. "Cascading water. Like a river."

What sounded like a dull rumbling increases in volume until it's just short of a deafening roar. Approaching the end, the birdsongs, and calls of what Armin thinks are eagles, are louder than ever. The children playing at the edge notice them and stop for a moment before running helter-skelter toward the cottages, screaming "The Heroes of Peace are here! The Heroes of Peace are here!"

And it's only when they cross the last of the bridge and step on the grass on the other side, that he sees it. 

Hushed silence. 

"Is it just me or… are you all seeing this too?"

"Yeah."

"Pretty sure I'm not hallucinating."

"Is that real?"

"I… I think so."

"Of course it's real."

"I've never seen anything like this."

"I don't think we had anything like it in Paradis."

"No."

"In Marley?"

"It was either go home to Liberio, or fight a war somewhere. So I don’t know, really."

"But its–"

"–quite a sight."

Because now, with the cloud cover no more as dense as it looked from the other side, there it is ; beyond the cottages and behind the thick cluster of pine trees – so majestically tall he can't see how it begins where it disappears above even higher clouds; so wide that it stretches across the entirety of the settlement area; so loud that it nearly drowns out the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his ears; so powerful that he almost dares not to look for too long–

Waterfalls.

It’s not even that close – there are all of the cottages and something of a big pine forest between him and the waterfalls and yet… it takes his breath away. Thick ropes of vines snake along the sparse areas where no water cascades down; birds of colours and shapes he never fathomed possible fly in and out of caves within rock faces; trees manage to rise from roots well settled into precarious edges; and the thunderous rush of water – white, foamy, misty with spray – falls from the heavens and disappears behind the jagged tips of pines and spruces. 

Emotions well up rapidly and tears prick the corner of his eyes. Is it because of the beauty of the waterfalls itself, or is it because of the fact that he’s alive to witness this? Perhaps both. In either case, his heart aches, because he’s here, the others are here, but they didn’t get this far without watching most of humanity perish. Does he deserve to be touched by this magnificent sight? Is that a luxury he can allow himself? 

It’s only when Annie’s index finger curls discreetly around his little finger that he’s aware she’s standing beside him, her pale blue eyes also cast toward the waterfalls. He’s a hypocrite. He’d told Annie it was alright to live and marvel and enjoy, and here he is, doubting his own right to do the very same things. 

Armin notices the crowd of people streaming out of the cottages in excitement when a thin man with a slight frame jogs forward, arms outstretched. “Pieck, my daughter!”

“Father!” Pieck beams with joy, dropping her end of the trunk and running into his arms. “Have you been well?”

Armin shakes his head, blinking away his tears, and nods at Reiner and Annie. “You two can go catch up with your families. Jean, Connie and I will take care of the paperwork.”

Reiner hesitates, spotting his mother making her way through the crowd. “Is that… alright?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

“Annie!” Mr. Leonhardt limps toward them, and Armin gives her a small smile. “See you later.”

“Okay. Later. Call me if you need help.” She says, before walking into her father’s hug. 

“Man, I really miss my mom now,” Jean mutters, scratching his neck. Connie looks longingly at the three ex-warriors laughing with their parents. 

“Me too.”

That’s one stone dropping into his stomach, and Armin purses his lips. If these two had never left Paradis, they’d still be with their mothers. Connie had been so punctual and devoted in tending to his mother in her titan form. If only–

“I’m sorry,” Armin mumbles, eyes downcast.

“Whatever for?” Jean asks, looking incredulous. 

“I mean… we’re all the way here in Kald and we can’t go back to Paradis immediately. I dragged you here–”

“You dragged us here? Oh come on, Armin,” Connie lightly thwacks Armin’s head. “Now you’re just blaming yourself for things you didn’t even do.”

“We both left Paradis on our own. We chose to,” Jean says firmly. “We’ll go back home one day. You said we’ll write to Historia soon. We’ll write to our mothers then and they’ll know we’re alright. That’s enough.”

“Yeah.” God, did it have to be today, of all days, when he feels his worst? 

Connie pats his back. “Now, do we hand out the money first or the permits?”

Pull yourself together, he chides himself, rubbing his eyes. “Uh, we’ll do both together, that’ll save time. If everyone can form a queue–”

“On it,” Connie says, taking a step forward but stopping short with a gasp. “Oh no.”

“What?” Jean says, and Armin follows their gaze under a lone spruce tree, and his blood runs cold.

Four boys stand there; two angry, one blank, and a blond deeply depressed. Eyes puffy and red-rimmed, they don’t look in the least bit happy to see them. Another stone drops into Armin’s stomach. Oh no, indeed.

“They’ve been told, haven’t they?” Jean mutters quietly. “About their–”

“Yeah. Shit. ”

Armin opens mouth to say something when the blond boy whirls around, running away and the others follow him.

“Uh, shouldn’t we–” Connie starts, but Armin stops him.

“Yes, but let’s finish the paperwork first. Then we’ll have time.”

Two hours later and the paperwork is indeed done. The bags of money handed out, signatures received, thumbprints stamped and yet Armin doesn’t feel better. Because now not only does he feel awful about the blond kid’s reaction, but he hasn’t been able to solve the other problem.

It was as he had expected. Convincing them didn’t work. The trauma ran too deep and no amount of superficial reassurance would dislodge the underlying terror. He had tried with several of the refugees, and failed. 

“I’m too scared,” One young woman had said. “My youngest daughter once ran out through the gates in Liberio and she was shot dead. Now I’ve got only my eldest,” Trembling arms hold close a small girl with brown hair.

“But this isn’t Marley,” He replies softly. 

“Maybe not, but,” Her lips quiver. “I’m still too scared.” And she clutches at her upper arm where probably, the phantom feeling of a disgracing armband still lingers. 

“I’m not scared, young man,” An elderly man with bushy white eyebrows and a long beard smiles toothily. “But you know, fear spreads easily. I have no family, I can’t cross the bridge all alone.”

“I’m not going,” A middle aged woman stubbornly says, a basket of bread on her hip. “Who knows how I’ll be treated? I was often spit on, back in Liberio.”

“But the people here aren’t like that,” Armin pleads. “They won’t treat you that way. I’ve seen it. We live there.”

She tsks. “That’s because you stopped the Rumbling. You’re the Heroes of Peace. But me? I’m a nobody. I’m an Eldian devil.”

And a majority of the rest had been the same. Most too scared; some not, but unwilling to be the first to try anything new. 

With a heavy sigh, Armin feels his pocket. It’s there, small and thin. Grand gesture it has to be, then. He just hopes it’ll make a difference and have the desired effect, because he’s spent all morning thinking, and he’s come up with this, and only this.

But first, the little boy.

It takes him a while of searching, but he finally finds him, almost at the end of the clearing. Only some way off, the pines dot the grassy earth with increasing density. The lake sparkles in the mild sunshine and the blond boy sits cross legged by the edge, sniffling quietly. If he notices Armin’s approach, he doesn’t show it.

“Hi.” 

There’s no response, so Armin seats himself – also cross legged – next to the small boy.

“Why aren’t you with your friends?” Armin asks.

The boy rubs under his nose, which is audibly blocked. “I don’t want them to see me cry.” His throat is sore, from prolonged crying, Armin guesses.

“Why not?”

“It makes me look weak.”

Ahh. That hits a little too close to home. Since the boy refuses to look at him, he follows the gaze of swollen brown eyes to the water, which softly glitters with white sunlight.

“That’s not true,” He says. “Your friends won’t think of you like that. After all, they didn’t abandon you when you twisted your leg.”

“That’s–”

“Sometimes,” Armin sighs, a familiar feeling creeping up inside. “You have to trust that they’ll accept every part of you.”

The boy draws his knees up and sinks his chin between, blinking furiously to stop another wave of tears. Armin wonders if he should pat his back, but… no. There’s still more to come before he can do that and minutes later, it does. 

“You lied to me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t tell me my mother and father were…” A strained sob.

“I’m sorry.” Another stone drops into his cavity of growing dread. 

“Why did you lie?” Small fists curl into balls and hot tears spill from burning eyes.

It’s true. He could have told him back then. He could have taken his hands and announced that the boy was henceforth, an orphan. Because his parents had died a horrible death.

“I think…” He begins, chewing his lip. “We wanted to maintain your happiness. You were having fun that morning. None of us wanted to… ruin that.”

Because he’s responsible for this boy becoming an orphan.

“It was wrong of us. I’m sorry.”

Because he hadn’t stopped his best friend from killing this boy’s parents. 

The boy crumbles into himself, tears rolling down in cheeks with a force greater than the waterfalls behind and Armin feels his heart crack. All of this is his fault. Carefully, he reaches out and rubs the frail, hunched spine in circles, and he stays that way, for a long time, until the tears subside.

The scent of pine fills his nostrils when the breeze carries it toward them. The mood on the settlements has turned merry with their arrival and he can smell faintly the pungent aroma of cheese. He can’t see where Jean and Connie are, or the other three orphans. He’d learned that they were being housed by a kind woman and her brother, both childless themselves, and they’d taken it upon themselves to raise them in their cottages.

That would explain the slightly fuller cheeks and better complexion. After all, hunger remains, even through the worst of times, and the boy would have wolfed down food, despite his world having broken apart. That’s okay. That’s good, in fact. Armin would have eaten as much when he was a child too, had things been a little different. 

“Are you eating well?”

“Yeah. The food is… delicious.”

“I’m glad.”

Silence, before, “Is it bad? That I’m eating when my parents can’t?”

“No. No it’s not. You need to live, after all.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. For Mrs. Yuna, who’s taking care of you. For your friends. For a long, long future.”

(Like his voice when he’s calling for you. Like the weather. Like the smile on the faces of those two when you’re around.)

“Is that what all adults do?” The boy asks suddenly, his voice merely a whisper. “Lie?”

(Lies.) 

“ Sometimes.” Armin offers a weak smile as another crack splits his heart into three.

“I… won’t see them again, will I?”

(He would never see them again. Never again.)

“They… they’ve just gone far away.”

(Lies. Why did adults lie so much?)

The boy turns to look at him, confused, puzzled, a little angry. “They’re not far away… they’re– they’re dead,” He chokes, eyes brimming once more.

For a very long time, and in a great many situations, Armin has always found himself hesitating over, doubting, and second guessing his actions. A problem he suspects will follow him to his grave. But right now… right now is different. His limbs move before he even commands them. He rises to kneel beside the boy and places a hand on a trembling shoulder.

“Want to skip stones with me?”

He receives a startled blink and a perplexed look, as expected, and he recognizes it from years ago.

“Huh?”

Armin looks around for a stone and finds one by the very edge. Picking it up, he blows on it to get rid of dust and soil and rubs it clean between his hands. His heart aches.

“Now watch carefully,” Watery brown eyes follow him as Armin stands, bending at the knees ever so slightly and angling his arms just right. And then he throws the stone into the smooth surface of the water with a flick of his wrist, where it skips once, twice, thrice, four times, five, six times, before sinking. 

The boy gasps. “How– how did you do that?”

Ah yes. This too is the same, isn’t it?

“I’ll teach you,” Armin smiles faintly. “But we need stones–”

(Smooth, flat, not heavy.)

“– Smooth, flat, not heavy. Will you go get some?”

The boy scrambles to his feet and runs off. Armin tries to steady his uneven breathing of which he’s only now aware. It had been a long time and he wasn’t prepared. But muscle memory is a strong thing, the body somehow still remembers what to do in times like this. In times of grief. He looks at the sky inside the lake and tries to remember when the last time was. Years ago? Yes. Death had been all around him lately but there had been no time for this. 

The blond kid comes running back, armed with stones too big and too small and sized just right. Armin helps him sort out the good ones, all the while clenching his teeth, because his heart aches so badly.

“Before we start, what’s your name?” He should know that, at the very least. The name of the child whose parents he had helped kill.

Brown eyes meet blue and the boy shyly says, “Asa.”

Asa. “How old are you?”

“Nine.”

Nine. What had Armin been doing, when he was nine? At nine, he’d spent hours reading aloud from the book of the outside world to Eren and Mikasa under the tree, after they went frolicking through flower fields. At nine, he’d raced down the market behind a raging Eren, begging him to stop chasing down the bullies who’d beaten him up. At nine, he’d watched Mikasa sew his and Eren’s torn shirts. At nine, he’d go home at sundown where his parents would welcome him back and tuck him into bed after a piping hot supper. At nine, he’d watch his grandfather and father tinker around in their mechanic shop while his mother drew blueprints and structural plans. At nine, he was happy. 

Armin stands behind Asa and positions him right. “Thumb on top of the stone. Middle finger at the bottom. Index along the side.”

Really, now?

“Lean back. Bend at the knees a little– just a little. Yeah, that’s good.”

His eyes prickle with tears. Does he have any right to do this? This boy didn’t have parents anymore because of him.

“This arm at the front, and this one at the back.” His fingers shake badly around small shoulders, and Asa looks at him with concern. Armin averts his eyes.

Isn’t he just a hypocrite? He should be hanging his head in shame before this child. 

“Remember to flick your wrist forward when you throw.” Armin’s voice breaks. The prickle turns into a burning sting and his eyes heat up. 

“The stone has to spin, or it won’t skip.”

“Um… are you alright?”

“Yeah,” He laughs, short, brittle and full of pain. He doesn’t deserve this concern. He deserves to be lashed out at, to be hated. 

(He’ll never see them again . Never again. Why did you leave me behind?)

“Go on, throw it.”

(Why didn’t you take me with you?) 

The stone goes flying and skips once, before sinking.

That’s amazing. Asa isn’t like him; he’s good and he picks up things fast. That’s good. He’ll have a bright, and full life ahead of him. 

“You’re good at it.”

But Asa’s eyes are wide open and watery, and they leak from the corners.

“They’re not far away, are they?” He whispers. “They’re dead. So why did you lie? Again?”

He has no right to be saying this. No right at all. His legs feel weak.

(Because sometimes–)

“Because sometimes,” Armin whispers back. “You need a lie to be able to live on.”

He sinks to his knees and the sobs bubble up, wracking through his body. Armin covers his face with his hands. Hands permanently stained with the blood of humanity. It’s all his fault this innocent child is an orphan. It’s all his fault. It’s all his fault. If only– if only he had got to Eren a little sooner–

“I’m sorry,” He cries, tears falling through his fingers. “I’m sorry,”

“Hey,” Asa calls softly. “Please don’t cry.”

Tears that aren’t his fall into Armin’s hair and a small pair of arms wrap around his head. He doesn’t deserve this kindness. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. Neither the scent of pines in the midday breeze, nor the gentle and warm sunshine on his skin. He slips forward and into the small boy’s slight frame. 

“I’m so sorry,” He weeps, even as the boy continues to pat his head, crying too.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save your parents’ lives.”

How long has he been crying in the boy's arms? And why? Annie had only just finished checking up on her father and his new cottage, when she'd caught sight of two blond heads, one kneeling, one standing; one head hanging low into the other's chest, the other patting his back; and both crying – and her heart stopped dead with panic. Had someone hurt him? Hurt them both? No– no of course not, how stupid. But the sight of Armin crying, once again, sends all the air rushing out her lungs. As much as she wants to go and comfort him, it doesn’t feel like a moment she should interrupt. So she settles with leaning against the wooden walls of an empty cottage and watching. 

"He cries easily," Pieck says, startling Annie. How long has she been standing there? She smiles slightly, a bundle of firewood tucked under her arm.

"Yeah, he cries way too easily," She laughs and Annie scowls. 

"Not anywhere as much as Reiner."

Pieck holds her palms up in mock-surrender. "No need to get so defensive. I'm not attacking your boyfriend."

Annie looks away, blushing. That's not how she had meant it but… nevermind. They stand quietly, watching the two boys weep. Armin's arms wrap tightly around the kid and something about it… triggers a strange feeling deep inside her chest. What is this? She doesn't like it; feelings she can't name straightaway scare her. This is also how it had felt like all those years ago when…

Annie, you're actually a pretty nice person aren't you?

That's how all of this started, didn't it?

"You know," Pieck says quietly, after a long silence. "I'm kind of getting fond of those three. The Paradis boys."

Annie scoffs. "Just now? After all this time?" 

"I mean, you all know each other," She shrugs and maybe Annie’s imagining the loneliness in it. "I'm the only one who's new here."

Annie glances at her just as a breeze hits them square in the face, blowing Pieck's hair back. And she stares at the deep dark circles under her eyes. 

"What's up with your eyes?"

"Oh look," Pieck deflects, jerking her chin forward. "Deja vu."

Sure enough, there's Jean, Connie and Reiner with the other three orphaned boys in tow, watching Armin and the blond kid, with hands over their mouths and tears of their own. It takes them only a minute before they crowd around Armin, dropping to their knees and hugging each other, sharing more grief.

"Remind you of that night on Fort Salta?" Pieck chuckles, walking toward the boys. "Though I don't know why they're crying now. Come on."

Annie follows as Pieck reaches them and slaps Reiner's back with a laugh. "Really now, crybabies, all of you!"

"Go away," Jean mumbles with his head on Armin's shoulder.

"No can do," Pieck crouches and throws her arms around Reiner and Jean, closing her eyes with a smile. "I'm too fond of you all now for that."

"Oh shut up," And it even makes Annie smile, when she kneels behind Armin, circling his waist and pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades. 

The boys, both big and small cry for what seems like forever, there by the blissfully peaceful lake, with the birds and butterflies flitting under the warm sunshine. Annie counts every breath Armin takes as he calms down eventually. One of his hands covers hers around his middle and he squeezes in gratitude, and it's Annie's signal to pull away. 

The boys break apart, rising to their feet, furiously rubbing their eyes and bright red noses. Pieck chuckles with her hands on her hips. "Seriously. What would you all do without us?"

"Ha-ha, very funny," Jean shakes his head before he notices her dark circles and frowns in alarm. "What's wrong with your eyes?"

"You're fine now then. Okay, I need to drop these off at my father's house," She waves nonchalantly, picking up the bundle of firewood and walking away. Jean looks inquiringly at Annie.

"What's that about? Isn't she sleeping well?"

"No idea," Annie shrugs. "She doesn't want to talk about it right now."

Jean stares after Pieck's retreating figure and blinks, still frowning. "Hm."

"Reiner," Armin calls, wiping at his eyes before he kneels again to tie the blond kid's shoelaces which appear to have come loose. Annie's heart does another flip, much to her confusion. "Can you get the refugees to assemble at the middle of the bridge?" 

"Huh? Why?" Reiner asks. 

"Just do it," Armin responds before bending to the lake to splash his face with water. "They're cooped up in these cottages. We have to help them cross and let go of their fear."

"Oh," Connie cocks his head. "You're going to give them a speech or something?"

"No. Yes. Anyway, please get them over there. I'll be with you in a minute."

"Got it." 

Everyone leaves, but the blond kid and his friends hang back with Armin and Annie by the lake. 

"What are you going to do?" The blond kid asks Armin hesitantly. 

"Don't you want to visit the village? There's lots of exciting things to see there." Armin raises his eyebrows, smiling. 

"Really?"

"Really." 

"Yeah!" The boys cheer before scampering away, and Annie can't help her own smile.

"You've thought of something then?" She asks, eyes rising with his as Armin stands, dusting his back. 

"Yeah," He grimaces. "Don't know if it'll work though."

"Why not?"

"Well… I don't know," He sighs without confidence. "Just–"

"You can do it." She says firmly and the smile he gives her – grateful, appreciative, fond – is only for her; only hers to enjoy. 

"Thank you," He whispers, leaning to press a kiss to her temple when she ducks away. 

"There's people here!" She hisses and he laughs. 

"Sorry, sorry."

Apprehension ripples through the crowd of roughly two hundred refugees behind Annie as the sun ascends higher in the sky, beating down on them. In front of her, Armin looks for the plank with the chipped off edges as Reiner and Jean herd more people toward the middle of the long, broad bridge, where they all stand.

With folded arms, Annie wonders what’s so important about this middle when he finally spots it. Armin pulls something out of his pocket – a… cigarette? No, a piece of chalk. For some reason, goosebumps rise along her arms when he bends and draws a line on the chipped plank, from one end of the bridge to the other. He draws it again, and again, until it looks like a thick, white border bisecting the middle. The voices hush to a silence. 

The sun glints off his golden hair when he straightens, and he takes a deep breath before speaking to the curious, waiting crowd.

“This is Lake Brienne,” He begins, gesturing at the lake on either side. “I’m told it’s especially beautiful during the summer. During fall, it’s covered in autumn leaves. During the winter, it freezes over and the residents of the village over there,” He points behind him. “Hold an ice-skating festival here.”

Murmurs of fear turn into murmurs of excitement and a few children squeal. Armin smiles.

“We’ve been in Kald for six days. And we’re standing right at the middle of the bridge that connects your new homes, with the village beyond. I understand why you haven’t crossed it. I understand that it’s frightening. But this is not Liberio. You no longer need to wear the Eldian armbands. This is not Marley. Your new permits are not the passes you were given in Liberio; your permits mean that you are equal citizens of Kald. This country is your new home. Here, you are not Eldian, you are only Kaldian.”

Armin draws another breath, briefly glancing over at Annie, who’s gone as rigid as a steel beam, her heart thumping fast.

“But you can’t stay within your cottages for the rest of your lives. You must mingle with the locals, you must befriend others. The people here are kind. You have to let your children play with their children. Everything begins with a little trust.”

A little trust. She knows what ‘a little trust’ can do, all too well.

“We’re asking you,” Armin pauses briefly. “To have a little faith in this country which has offered us a permanent home. Explore the length and breadth of Kald – you’re free citizens now. Learn how the people here live. Share your knowledge with them and let them share theirs. Put your skills to use and start your own shops. Make your living, proud and head held high. You don’t have to live in shame. Not here, not anymore.”

He toes the white chalk line. 

“This line is meant to be crossed.”

Oh.

Annie doesn’t realise the pin drop silence covering them like a thick blanket until a voice cheers behind her. One becomes two, two become three, and it spreads like wildfire. Armin looks relieved, tense shoulders relaxing and a sigh escaping his mouth which pulls into a smile. He raises his hands and the cacophony dies down.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” He continues. “All you have to do is walk with us.”

Just to her left, the blond boy pushes through the packed crowd until he emerges at the front where Armin catches sight of him. Laughing, he holds out his hand.

“Want to come with me?”

The boy leaps forward, putting his small hand into Armin’s larger one. “Yeah!”

The two of them turn their backs on the rest of the onlookers and with a whirlwind of wild emotions Annie fails to categorize, she watches Armin smile encouragingly at the boy, gripping his hand tightly.

“You ready?”

“I am!”

One big shoe, and one small shoe cross over the white chalk-line. Hand in hand, they stride toward the village and without a sound, the refugees follow. One, two, five, twenty, fifty, hundred, two hundred, on their way to believing that a cycle of hatred spanning two thousand years can indeed, be broken. 

The crowd passes, but Annie still stands there, by the chalk line. 

Pieck sidles up to her with a low whistle. “So where did he learn to put on a show like that?”

Is she really surprised? This is the same boy who’d taken down several enemies with the power of his words alone. Including her. “I think,” She says softly. “He’s always had it in him, really.”

“Huh. I’m impressed, honestly,” Pieck brushes back her hair. “Anyway, come on. I’m really hungry for lunch.”

Annie doesn’t move even though Pieck walks off, and she toes the line herself. So why did he kiss her here? What was he trying to tell her?

That perhaps, by falling in love with her all those years ago, he’d crossed a border himself, and she’d done the same?

Annie crosses, again.

The bell on the glass door tinkles pleasantly when Annie pushes it open, and her nose is immediately assaulted by the smell of rubber, ink, and oil. 

“Welcome,” A warbly voice calls out though she can’t see its owner. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello. I need a seal made."

A frail looking man with a heavily wrinkled face, thin wisps of white hair and a pince-nez, shuffles toward Annie from the back of the shop. 

"Alright. What kind?" He says, gesturing toward a reception table. 

Annie unfolds the green cloak resting on her left arm and spreads it across the table, smoothing out the blue and white emblazoned pattern on the back. "An official seal, with this symbol."

"Hmm," The man sits down to study the Wings of Freedom and when it becomes clear he’s going to take a while, Annie strays away to look around. Nestled right between a silversmith and a printing press, she had almost missed the stamp-maker's shop. There are all kinds of stamps and seals on display inside small glass cases on rows of shelves; some look like business stamps, some look like official stamps carrying Kald's coat of arms, and then there are many the size of cigars; thin, slender and round. 

"What kind of seals are these?" Annie asks, and the stamp maker looks up to where she's pointing. 

"Oh those are family stamps," He says with a nod, before turning his attention back to Armin’s cloak. "In Kald, when you get married, you have one of those made with the family name. You stamp it on top of your signature." 

Family stamps, huh. She peers into the glass boxes. Some of them aren't perfectly round – instead they're oval or have rounded rectangles – and it's apparent why; the names are quite long. Annie squints to read a few: Freudenberg. Kristiansen. Dubanowski. Adachihara. Hämäläinen. Saengkaew. 

Idly, Annie strolls deeper into the shop, letting her eyes wander over a few small machines, dusty boxes and a table containing several finely tipped tools and chisels, lit by a single lamp. 

Leon-hardt. A bit long, it might turn out oval shaped, she hums to herself, turning on her heel slowly, back toward the front. Somehow the perfectly rounded stamps look more appealing. 

But Arlert, she thinks, letting her fingers brush the spines of several hardbacks on a bookcase. Arlert is short and compact. Ar-le-rt. It can fit neatly inside a perfect circle. It can–

She stops when heat floods her face, horrified at her indulgent thoughts. What is she thinking?! She groans, dropping her face into her palms. This is all his fault . This is all because he said something so stupid and vague on Fort Salta, this is all because she’s getting way too attached to him, this is all because she’s–

Way too much in love with him. 

“Miss?” The stamp-maker calls from the front and she exhales angrily before returning to the front desk, trying to wipe the pink off her cheeks.

“I can do this for you in three days’ time,” He taps the pattern with his forefinger. “If you can write the dimensions of the size and other details,” He pushes a notebook and pen toward her. “Come in the evening and it’ll be ready.”

“Thanks,” Annie mutters, still too distracted with her wild thoughts from seconds before, and scribbles down the details.

“Oh, and miss?” He stops her before she makes to leave. “This is an official seal? Then I’ll need the details of the person who’s going to be using this. Is that you?”

“It’s not me.”

“Then please write that down here,” He pulls out another book, this one having a hardcover, and embellished with Kald’s coat of arms. “I get reimbursed by the Government for making official seals.” He explains.

Annie chews her lip as she opens the cap of the pen. He’s going to dislike it. Maybe he’ll hate it. But there’s nothing that can be done – he’ll have to make peace with it at some point of time. So she writes:

Official seal, requested by:

Annie Leonhardt, for 

Armin Arlert

15th Commander of the Survey Corps.

It’s not like he’s alone.

Up the street, Annie finds her hands inside her pockets, fiddling with the threads and folds deep within. There’s a lot on her mind, and most of it is – and she’s not surprised – related to Armin. It’s bothersome to be honest, but as long as it remains inside her head, she supposes it’s alright. After all, she’s not going to die… surely, she can allow herself to indulge. Just a little bit. 

A cool breeze blowing down the hill and against her cheeks is her only friend at close quarters as she turns the one picture she’s been thinking of since the afternoon, over and over inside her mind; Armin and that little boy, walking hand in hand over the line and toward the village. The more she thinks about it, the more her heart flutters, although she’s unable to pinpoint why. But there’s something that never fails to surprise her – his optimism and how it manages to shine through, in stark contrast to her carefully cultivated pessimism. He’d always been like this, hadn’t he? Blissfully hopeful before discovering the truth of the world beyond the walls, and still hopeful even after the world showered him with wrath. Would anything have changed, if she’d taken his words to heart, all those years ago? Armin had never lost his kindness and she wonders how he got that trait in the first place. From his mother? Father? What had he been like, as a child? Had he always been surrounded with friends like him? When did he become close with Eren and Mikasa? He probably cried a lot, she’s quite sure about that. A smile tugs on the corner of Annie’s lips before she remembers--

She had then come along to ruin his peace. 

Why did he cry with the boy at the lake? What sorrow did those tears carry? Was it because of her? Was it because of something else? Why did those red-rimmed eyes smile so kindly at the equally red eyes of the little boy when they crossed the bridge?

A small hand within a larger one. A small shoe next to a big shoe. 

Does someone as violent as her have any place beside him? Does she have any right to stay with him? Does she have any right to love him? Does she have any right to want to touch him and desire to be touched back?

And yet… Ar-le-rt. It’ll make a nice, clean stamp. 

Annie blushes. If only she hadn’t softened her heart to him so many years ago, she wouldn’t be feeling all these conflicting emotions. Still, she wouldn’t change a thing. If she could do it all over again, she would still choose to return to the battle and fight tooth and nail to get him out alive.

The sharp clatter of aluminium against stone shatters her vulnerable thoughts and she pauses, eyes darting into the narrow alleyway between the water well and the shoemakers’. There, a little girl squats on her haunches, with a tray lying face-down on the pavement and several brightly coloured toffees scattered around. A girl, with hair so fair it could be white and eyes so green they could be the forest itself, clutching at her left arm. The lollipop girl from the other day.

Annie turns, stepping into the alleyway and dropping to a crouch to pick up the toffees. “You okay?” She asks, shaking dust off the tray before pouring the sweets inside. 

The girl nods slowly and Annie doesn’t miss the way her left fist is curled into a tight ball, but she drops it to her side, out of Annie’s sight. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

She shouldn’t pry. “Alright,” Annie sighs, rising to stand when the girl tugs on the hem of her hoodie.

“Want to buy some toffees?” Her voice is dull, monotone – so much like her own, Annie thinks – but if she’s not losing her hearing, she’s sure she picks up a faint tremble layered deep under. The girl looks at her, eyes unblinking, face too, void of emotion, and a shiver runs down Annie’s spine. “They aren’t dirty. They’re wrapped well.” She gestures at the tray.

She shouldn’t pry. “Yeah,” She nods and bends to pick up six of the toffees. “How much?”

“Six dunals.”

“Six… uh…” Annie fishes around in her back pocket and comes up with a single lone coin of ten. “I have only ten.”

“I’ll give you the change,” The girl replies, standing up slowly and the shadows fall away from her high cheekbones. The small bruise she’d seen the other day is very much black and blue now.

She shouldn’t pry. But when the girl pulls out a bunch of coins from a drawstring purse, her long white sleeves ride up and away from her wrists and the hair on the back of Annie’s neck stands on end.

A bright red semicircle peeks out from the cuff, looking angry and painful. Annie doesn’t have to see the whole of it to know what it is. 

A cigarette burn. 

Having noticed Annie’s stare, the girl quickly drops the change into her outstretched palms and pulls her sleeve up, casting her green eyes toward the ground. And then she picks up her tray as if nothing had just happened, as if Annie hadn’t just had the air sucked out of her lungs, and starts to walk away.

This isn’t any of her business.

It really isn’t.

She shouldn’t pry.

And yet, those green eyes…

“Stop.”

The light footsteps cease. 

Annie twists around to face the girl once more and this time, she plucks the tray out of small hands and sets it on the ground. She has no permission to do this, but she does it anyway – draw the girl’s left hand toward her and pull back her sleeve.

“Hey– don’t–”

“What is this?”

Probably the last thing Annie should do is sound angry. She’s not sure that’s what she is – consciously, anyway – but this isn’t normal. Not in Kald. Maybe in Marley, in Liberio, within the confines of humiliating walls that housed the species of the lesser race, like herself… but certainly not here, in Kald. 

But she can’t help it, because the girl’s entire forearm, pale wrist to pale elbow, is littered with cigarette burns. Furious craters of burnt-raw skin against a backdrop of red and blue veins crisscrossing under thin, white skin. Of course she had dropped the tray in pain. This will hurt. This will hurt like hell. Annie lets go only because the girl snatches her hand back with unexpected force and smooths down the sleeve hastily, wincing when it rubs against the wounds, but containing the anguish with a stoic brilliance Annie remembers is also one of her own talents.

“What is this?” Annie repeats, softer, because maybe she’s not the best person to coax responses out of little children, but there’s nobody else with her right now. “And the bruise on your cheek?”

“I fell.” Comes the equally stoic response. 

“You said that last time, but try again.”

“I fell. It’s the truth.” 

Annie sighs, blowing hair out of her face. This is not her forte of expertise. It isn’t going to work like this. But first, maybe she should get her something for the pain.

“That can get nasty real quick.” She comments, with a nod at the defaced arm, but isn’t surprised when the girl doesn’t raise her head. “Go sit there, on those steps. I’ll get you some ointment.”

If she glances up in astonishment, Annie pretends not to notice. “And don’t think of running away,” She warns. “Just wait there.”

It takes her around five minutes of climb to find a pharmacist who gives her not an ointment, but a tin of transparent gel for soothing burns. A plant extract, she’s told, from a cactus grown in the south. She also gets a long bandage and heads back down.

Thankfully – because Annie doesn’t believe she has the patience to go looking for a runaway kid with an armful of burns – she’s still there, on the steps leading into the backdoor of a shuttered store, quiet and looking very subdued. Annie kneels before her, setting the new medical supplies on the girl’s lap and rolls back her sleeve.

Looking at it a second time doesn’t make things easier; if anything, it’s worse on closer inspection. Not all of them are uniform in depth, but they are punched out to a certain degree, and it’s definitely going to leave long-lasting scars. Annie doesn’t flinch when she counts how many there are – twelve. She darts her gaze into the lustreless green of the little girl’s eyes, who has all her limbs, save for the burned arm, pulled into herself in high tension. There was a time when this was also her own typical response.

But she clears her throat; she can remember hellish days after treatment. “Have you washed this?”

The kid nods once.

“Under cool water?”

She nods twice, and Annie sighs in relief.

“Good. Keep your arm stretched out. I’m going to apply this,” She unscrews the lid of the tin of gel and lifts some out with two fingers – it’s cold – before dabbing at the spherical burns. The girl flinches but keeps her arm in place, and for that, Annie has to commend her willpower. 

When done, Annie picks up the roll of bandage and makes quick work of it around the pale forearm, starting at her elbow to the wrist, and looping it around her palm to secure it in place. “Keep this on. I did it slowly, so you should know how to wrap it back if it comes loose. Take this gel too and reapply it every often.”

Green eyes meet pale blue and the girl blinks at her. Annie blinks back. Then she notices the uninjured arm trying to pull some money out of the purse.

“It’s fine. No need to pay me.”

“But–”

“Here,” Annie reaches to swipe another six toffees off the tray. “We’re even.”

The girl hangs her head, holding her bandaged arm and Annie, suddenly very tired, moves to sit next to her on the steps. 

The setting sun coats the hillside in gold, even reaching between the densely packed buildings with slender fingers of orange light to throw long shadows by their feet. The market remains noisy and active, but some shutters are yanked down and a few good-nights are called. Flocks of birds fly over their heads with a flutter of wings, heading back home, as Annie also should. And yet, those green eyes…

"Who did that to you?" 

There's no answer. Of course. If anyone had asked Annie the same question in Liberio, she wouldn't have answered either. Not that anyone did, though. 

She has to go at this differently. Annie picks at the edge of her socks. "Where do you live?"

"Candy store," Comes a muted voice. "By the coffee shops."

"Hmm," Annie keeps her voice light. "And who's at home?"

"My father."

"Who else?"

"Nobody else."

Ahh. She hadn't been planning on recollecting all of that today. She had buried them somewhere deep ever since the battle ended, too busy caught in the sparks and pleasures of love and new experiences and him, that memories from long past had taken up no room in her thoughts. And this wasn't how she imagined she'd have to remember them. 

"I see." 

Silence stretches as long as their shadows and Annie isn't entirely sure why she's sitting beside this girl she barely knows. But she's involved now, it's too late to detach, and it's all because she's become a little too soft for her own liking. She'd probably killed several girls just like this kid, back on Paradis. Why is she trying to make up for her sins now?

She can't act like a good person, after all that. Even if… even if Jean and Connie had accepted her. 

And yet, those green eyes…

… Aren't as broken as her own eyes were, when she was this girl's age. There’s still some vulnerability left, some remnants of a small child seeking empathy and understanding and kindness from someone and somewhere, if only they’d look – really look – at her. It wouldn't be there, if this was Liberio, because Annie in comparison, had lost any and all expectations at a very young age. 

"How old are you?"

"Ten."

Ten. What did Annie do when she was ten? She doesn't have to try hard to remember, they are memories she's run over and over far too often, memories she had to bring back to the forefront of her thoughts when she needed to steel herself for whatever blood she had to spill next. 

At ten, Annie had been running through muddy tracks in the pouring rain, because Magath wanted her to build endurance. At ten, she had sprained her ankle and continued to practice roundhouse kicks in front of her house. At ten, she had stared longingly into a sweet smelling bakery a little away from the internment zone and had gotten thrown out; her life only spared because of the red armband indicating her Warrior status. At ten, Annie had begun to develop nerves of iron and steel because there really was nobody to ask her about her wounds and injuries. At ten, Annie was already the Female Titan, deadly, dangerous, a weapon, a tool. At ten, Annie was never anything more than that. 

"Um," The girl's quiet voice breaks into her ruminations. "Thanks for this." She raises her bandaged arm and the tin of gel. 

"No problem."

"I have to go now, so…"

"Yeah. Sorry for…" What? Wasting both of their times by choosing to sit there in awkward silence and asking nosy questions?

"Um," This time, Annie glances up. The girl shuffles her feet before asking, hesitantly, "What's… your name?"

"Annie."

"And… what flavour do you like?"

That takes her by surprise. "Flavour?" She repeats, confused. 

The girl nods, tapping her fingers on the tray.

"Uh… I don't really know. I just like sweet things, I suppose." 

"Oh. Then, next time I see you… I'll bring you some new kinds of sweets." 

Next time? Annie blinks with a frown.

"Okay," She barely manages before the girl turns away with an awkward nod and descends the steps. "Wait, kid. What’s your name?"

A face so much like hers from years ago, washed in the late evening sunshine, turns to look at her with green eyes, a little brighter with hope. 

"Aoife."

And then, because she's a little different now, because she's no longer just a weapon, because she's found a pair of arms that will welcome her with love anytime she seeks comfort, because this little child still has some hope left to live a happier life; because god knows, Annie would have liked some company too, when she was ten and nursing her injuries – both sustained and inflicted – under a lonely sunset–

"If something bad happens again–"

"Nothing bad happens in Kald." Aoife says quietly, cutting her off.

It's as if Annie's heart, thus far smoothly floating over a spring flower field, is plunged into cold water. "What?"

"That's what everyone says," Aoife continues. "Nothing bad ever happens in Kald."

And Annie's left to watch her shadow curl beyond the corner of the alleyway and disappear beyond her sight, wondering – why in this country, where the people were kind and happy and loving, why here , why in this way , she has to reckon once again with memories of a time she really didn’t want to remember, come face to face with scars still very much present on her back, and watch the same thing happen to another child, all over again.

It’s not like he has anywhere else to go. They weren’t at the Jaeger house. They weren’t in the market. They weren’t under the tree and now he’s too tired to search anywhere else. He isn’t like them – he’s not strong, he’s just weak. And he can’t go back home. Definitely not home. Like a pathetic loser, he seeks their warmth so his tears don’t end up cold. But they don’t really need him all the time the way he does them. So he ends up at the only other place he can think of, but the man he came to seek the company of, is too drunk to even notice him.

Still, he sits there, by the canal, hunched into himself. The waters are calm. Smooth and flat like the surface of a mirror. Usually they’re blue and white from the sky and her clouds; the colour of his father’s eyes when he kisses him with a face streaked with grease and oil. Sometimes they’re navy blue and black from the night sky and her many stars; the colour of his mother’s eyes in the dim candlelight when she tucks him into bed. But the waters are always bright, just like his parents’ eyes. He probably won’t ever see them again.

Never again.

Today the canal is dull and grey. The sky too, is as sad as him, he supposes – overcast with heavy rain clouds. Maybe he can seek comfort like this, alone. It’s what he did anyway, before both of them came along. Now he’s become too dependent. It’s probably a bad thing. 

“Oi, kid, why the long face?”

So, he’d been noticed after all. Hannes’ face is splotched red and sports a broad grin that only ever appears when he’s emptied more than five mugs of heavy drinks. Well, it’s either one of three explanations – he’s not so drunk, he’s worried about him, or… he feels pity.

Armin would rather run away than have the third be the real reason. He doesn’t want that. But weaklings like him are only ever pitied.

“Why aren’t you with Eren and Mikasa?”

Armin sniffles and wipes his wet cheeks on his sleeves. “I couldn’t find them anywhere,” He mumbles.

“Ho! Did they leave you behind again?” Hannes chuckles.

Did they? Perhaps he was becoming too much of a burden. Maybe they’d run away before he could get to them. But… no. No, no, they weren’t like that. “That’s not it. I just couldn’t find them.”

“Huh. Well, I’ll keep you company,” Reeking of one too many drinks, Hannes swings his legs over the stone hedging and settles beside Armin with a big burp. “So, why are you crying?”

“My mother and father are… dead.”

The silence is deafening because even Hannes doesn’t break it with his drunken laughter. 

A cough later, Hannes chuckles uncomfortably. “Whaddaya mean… dead? Didn’t they go somewhere? On a trip?”

“They’re dead.” There’s no doubt about it. 

“How do you know that?” Hannes scoffs. “You shouldn’t be jumping to wild conclusions you know–”

If only it was a wild conclusion. “Grandfather was called to the morgue today. The military morgue.”

Another pause. “How do you know he went to the morgue?”

“Because Grandfather had the morgue pass in his pocket when he came back.” A horrible black scrap of paper. The same kind he had seen after his grandmother died. The second he had caught sight of it, sticking out in a crumpled triangle from his grandfather’s coat, he knew. He knew what it meant. But still… still, it couldn’t be… mother and father… right?

Hannes clears his throat loudly, dismissing him entirely. "That could’ve been someone… else."

If only it was someone else. But no, because, "I found my mother's handkerchief in the same pocket. And my father's compass. They had blood on them." He hadn’t meant to… but he had to look. His grandfather didn’t know he had snuck into the coat room and emptied the pockets. And they had fluttered and clattered to the ground respectively, sending his heartbeat into silence. 

He would never see them again.

Never again.

Hannes can’t come up with any more refutes. How can he, when Armin has seen the truth and stated it? From the corner of his eye, he watches him squirm in discomfort – this man who was always drunk to his eyeballs and jeering, now quiet as a mouse – but he can’t find it in himself to be surprised. He can’t feel anything except emptiness. The canal water is so clear, it looks empty too. But it isn’t, unlike him. Now, even the water which he thought would provide him some consolation, has betrayed him. 

“Titans probably… ate them.” Armin mumbles into his knees.

His grandfather had, after coming back, fixed breakfast as usual. But he didn’t look Armin in the eyes, nor did his kindly smile have much life to it. Timidly, Armin had asked when his mother and father were coming back. His grandfather merely said, “I forgot, weren’t you supposed to go foraging for mushrooms with Eren and Mikasa today? You’d better hurry.”

Lies.

He would never see them again.

Never again.

The silence stretches on like a taut string on high tension and Armin wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. He’s made a mistake, Hannes isn’t even drunk enough to forget all of this later. From tomorrow, he’ll be watched with eyes full of pity and hushed whispers will follow him everywhere. The child who lost his parents. From tomorrow, he’ll be taunted for this too, and his bullies will have another feather in their hats to hurt him with. From tomorrow, Eren and Mikasa may protect him with even more ferociousness, and he’ll sink in self hatred again. He shouldn’t have said anything. He deserves to mourn with dignity atleast. With nothing to fill the dead air between him and Hannes, his emptiness only grows larger. His truth can’t be fixed by anyone’s lies anymore. No, his parents are dead. As of today, he has no mother, and no father.

“Let’s skip stones.”

Oh. He’s hallucinating. Of course, he’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast. 

“I’ll teach you.”

What?

Heavy eyelids blink above eyes so swollen with unshed tears, and manage to focus on Hannes, who gets up with a tired groan and stretches himself. Clearing his throat again, he crouches to sift through the dirt on the ground and digs up a stone, dusting the soil off of it.

“See this?" He says, holding it up. "You need stones like this, flat and smooth. Or it won't work.”

No, but why? He should be patting him on the back and walking away. Or just not say anything at all and leave him alone, in his grief.

"Now watch carefully," There's a gleam in Hannes' eyes when he turns to face the canal, bends a little, and throws the stone with a flick of his wrist. 

Armin watches, tired eyes enthralled, as the stone curves into the water, birthing ripples, neatly skimming the surface, once, twice, thrice, four times, before sinking. Once calm water is broken into concentric circles expanding wide and outward into each other, before fading into nothingness again.

“How… how did you do that?” He asks with wide eyes and a nose that’s beginning to sting.

Hannes grins. “Atta boy, there’s the wonder I’m used to seeing on you. First, go get some stones like this. Smooth, flat, not heavy.”

And Armin gets them. From near, from afar and everywhere in between. He gets ten, maybe twenty, maybe fifty, he doesn’t know. He fills his pockets and a makeshift sack using the front of his shirt and as many as he can carry in both of his hands. Hannes is pleased, inspecting and throwing away the ones he doesn’t like. And then, he teaches him.

“Thumb on top. Middle finger at the bottom. Index finger along the side, like– yeah, like that.”

Is this how he will spend the day his mother and father died?

“Lean back. Bend at the knees a litt– no that’s too much. A little. Yeah– okay, good.”

Skipping stones on water?

“This arm at the front, and this one at the back. Armin, you’re not paying attention.”

The sting gets worse and his eyes heat up. Is this how he will remember their deaths?

“Remember to flick your wrist forward when you throw.”

Playing?

“The stone has to spin, or it won’t skip.”

Tears brim. He’ll never see them again. It’s getting blurry. Never again. Oh no, he can’t see. Why did you leave me behind?

“Throw it.”

Why didn’t you take me with you? 

The stone flies from his hand and sinks into the transparent water. 

Hannes sighs, hands on his hips, clicking his tongue. “Well that’s alright, you need practice of course.”

Armin crumples to the ground with rivers flowing from his eyes. He should’ve spent more time helping father with his mechanics instead of running after Eren and Mikasa. He should’ve spent more time watching mother bake pies. He should’ve spent more time listening to them plan the air balloon they were going to use on their trip. He should’ve–

He misses them so much. 

“Armin,” Hannes says softly, kneeling beside him, with a large and warm palm rubbing circles onto his back. “I’m sure they miss you too.”

He’s crying but he can’t hear it. Everything hurts. Everything’s gone. His mother’s shampoo, his father’s hug. His mother’s caring hands, his father’s laugh. His mother’s bedtime stories about the outside world from the book she let him see whenever, his father putting on soft music and taking his mother to dance in the living room. The handkerchief she used to wipe his tears with is now soaked with her blood. The compass he used to teach him about geography is now crusted with his blood. 

“Armin. It’s okay.” 

It's not okay it's not okay it's not okay. It's not okay!

"Listen to me, Armin," Hannes' voice sounds very distant. "Your mother and father have gone far away."

Lies. Why did adults lie so much? They're not far away, they’re dead! 

"You can't go there yet."

He can. The next time the bullies come for him, maybe he shouldn't try to defend himself. Maybe he should run away before Eren and Mikasa find him and let his wounds take him away. 

"There's a lot of things you still have to enjoy in this world."

Like what?

"Like the breakfast your grandfather makes," Hannes puts a stone inside Armin's palm. "Like his voice when he’s calling for you,” He curls Armin’s fingers around them. “Like the weather,” He squeezes his folded fingers with a pressure so gentle, Armin feels brittle. “Like the smile on the faces of those two when you’re around.”

“Lies.” He’s just a burden. 

“That’s not true. They treasure you very much.”

Armin brings his eyes up to Hannes’ face, no more bearing the look of a man drunk to the hilt, but that of someone with kindness, softness and empathy. His face is blurry, but that’s probably because of the tears falling hard and fast from his own eyes. 

“That’s…”

Hannes raises his eyebrows. “What, they’ve never told you that before?”

Armin shakes his head dumbly, feeling his lips quiver. 

He laughs. “Don’t you worry! They’ll tell you in time. Maybe you’ll even save their lives one day!”

Save their lives? Him? Save their lives? From what?

“Anyway. Come on. Let’s see you practice some more.”

And he does. He gets back up on shaky legs and pelts rocks into the calm water. They’re violent and clumsy and nothing but failures, but Hannes doesn’t scold him, until his throws become smoother, quieter, and the stones begin to skip gracefully off the surface. And when all the stones are exhausted and his wrist hurts, he sits back down with heavy tiredness, and Hannes stays with him until the sky turns dark and the air grows cold.

A large palm ruffles his hair and Armin feels the urge to ask.

“Why did you say they’ve gone far away? Mother and Father are dead.” Because, the least Hannes could do was not take him for a foolish child who didn’t know any better. 

Hannes sighs, looking at stars peeking out in the inky black sky. “Because sometimes… you need a lie to be able to live on.”

Hours later, he walks him back home where his anxious grandfather waits. Armin eats dinner, because he’s hungry despite his shattered heart. He goes to bed, where his grandfather tucks him in with a sad smile that says he knows everything Armin knows. He tries to stay awake, but sleep comes hard and fast and he succumbs to heavy eyelids.

 

He does it again, a year later when his grandfather never comes back from the rehabilitation program in Shiganshina. He throws rocks into the canal inside Wall Rose. 

He does it again, when several of his comrades die during the Battle of Trost. 

He does it again, when Hannes dies.

He does it again, when he fires his gun during the Military coup.

He does it again, when Commander Erwin dies.

He does it again, when Sasha dies.

But he hasn’t done it for Eren.

Crying is better done inside the bath where the running water disguises salty tears and the steam provides an easy excuse for reddened skin. Shrivelled fingers from staying inside the water for too long, press into his eyes. He hadn’t planned on remembering his parents today. Not that he ever forgot about them, but he more often likes to remember the times they were alive, and not very much the day they died. Far too much crying today, and he’s ashamed of himself. With a groan, he lifts himself out, because he’s been sitting in there for nearly thirty minutes now, after exhausting all his tears and energy. He’s spent. He just wants to go to sleep.

Armin dresses and throws the towel around his neck before stepping out of the bathroom, just in time for a knock on his door.

“Come in,” He calls hoarsely, coughing when his voice catches in his throat. 

Annie steps in like the cool blue spring sky and washes over the painful cracks in his heart with serenity. That’s what it’s come to now; one look at her and he’s better. Much better. 

“I came by earlier but you were still in the bath…” She begins, looking alarmed at the sight of his puffy eyes and red nose. 

He can’t fool her. He won’t fool her; he’s done it twice in the past and he’ll regret it for the rest of his life. To lie to her now for the sake of hiding his self-hatred would be an insult to her intelligence. And surely, he can let himself just be , in her arms. 

“Have you been crying? Again– oof.” Annie staggers back when he crosses the distance and slumps into her, hugging her tight and burying his face into her neck. Yeah. This is alright. This is where his heart is at peace.

“Armin?” She murmurs into his hair, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Are you okay?”

Of course he is. 

“I’m okay now,” He mumbles, feeling calm and safe in her gentle hold. “I’ll be okay if you’re beside me.”

He can just let himself be. 

This is where his heart is at home.

Chapter Text

She should not have done that. 

She should not have done that. 

One hour left for the sun to set and Annie walks as slowly as she possibly can down the hill. The slower and longer she takes, the better; there's that many extra minutes to scold herself – for several things; for being impulsive, for being wasteful, for being foolish, for mooning around like a lovesick child. Whatever happened to the impenetrable soul she’d been proud of? Whatever happened to prioritising head over heart? 

Then again, had those even been real? She never would’ve had any purpose after being sent to Paradis if not for her father’s tears. It drove everything she did. She should’ve hated him for what he put her through, but no, home was the end goal. That was her heart speaking, not her head.

And she threw away everything for Armin, because she went along with him to that tunnel knowing it was a trap. She shouldn’t have lost her head to some silly boy with pretty words, but she did. The crystal should never have happened. Between Reiner’s and Bertholdt’s denial and hesitation respectively, she was the only one who struggled to stay grounded, reminding herself everyday why she was where she was. How much trouble had she caused them by cocooning herself inside? Those decisions too, were caused by her heart speaking, not her head.

Maybe the only really impenetrable barrier had been the crystal and never her heart.

Maybe she was never really the rock of steel she thought herself to be.

Slow and steady changes, she can get used to; but now she’s spiralling. Is this what living peacefully entailed? She doesn’t recognize herself. Her carefully constructed idea of who she's been, is slipping fast through her fingers. She's losing her grip. What even possessed her to do it? 

She shouldn't have gone back to the stamp shop the very next day. 

Tinkling bells have never sounded more ominous. No more the sweet ephemeral chords of brass and copper, they pass through her ears like death knells, announcing to every inanimate object inside that she’s come here to do something incredibly stupid. She shouldn’t have come. She can still turn around and leave. The old man hasn’t noticed her yet. She can leave. She should leave. She’ll leave–

"Oh, Miss," He emerges from the back, wiping his hands on a scrap of cloth. "The seal isn't ready yet. I think I said three days?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry," Annie mutters, ready to dash out of the door. This was a mistake. A huge mistake and also terribly foolish. But her feet don’t move, they’re stuck to textured stone, she should move them, goddamnit– why the hell doesn't she? 

The man looks at her curiously, abandoning the cloth and adjusting his pince-nez. "Did you come for something else?"

No, no she didn't. Definitely not.

“Do you want something else made?” 

… Fuck it. She'll just ask the price and leave. That should be harmless.

"Uh, that… how much does it cost? To– uh, to make…"

The man follows the tip of her finger to a glass case displaying a perfectly round, red coloured family-stamp. 

"That's eighty dunals."

Shit, it's expensive. Well of course it’s expensive, it’s a big deal to get one. That’s good. That’s good, now she can just go back home because it’s too expensive, even though she has a hundred dunals in her pocket, which she put in there for some strange reason–

No, no, absolutely not.

… But she has a hundred dunals.

"Uh… can you make me one?” The words are out of her mouth before she can swallow them back into her throat and she wonders, really wonders, how stupid she looks – alone, in this stamp shop, asking for a stamp to be made; a stamp you didn’t just buy unless–

“Of course.” He nods at her as if she’s only asked about the time, and gestures at the displayed samples. “So these are usually made round in shape, but depending on the length of the surname, it can vary in size.”

“Arlert. It’s Arlert.” She wants to run, right now. She should run. And never come back. She can send Pieck or Reiner to get the official seal later.

“Can you spell that for me?”

“A-r-l-e-r-t.” 

“Arlert,” The man writes down the name on a notebook. “That’s short, yes, this can be made in the regular size.”

Annie stares at him, chest pounding and mortified with herself. Really? She’s doing this? Damn her heart; she feels betrayed by it. Is this all it takes to lose her bearings? Some kissing, some confessions of love, some lazy promises, some secrets?

“You’re getting one made, I take it?”

“Yes.” No!

He clears his throat, scribbling something in the notebook and it sends her into a state of alarm. This isn’t normal, you don’t get a family stamp made for no reason, she really should say she’s sorry, that she’s made a mistake, and leave–

“Are you getting married then?”

Annie’s heart drops from her throat and several feet into the earth. Why hadn’t she thought this through?

“Sorry!” She blurts, in a voice slightly higher than she’d like. “That–this was a mistake. Sorry. Don’t make it. I’m not– not getting married. I’ll– don’t make it. I’m sorry. I’ll come back for the official seal later.” No she wouldn’t. And she’s out of the door before the man can look at her strangely or say anything at all.

And here she is once again, walking at a snail’s pace back to the very same shop where she had made a fool of herself, because nobody else had been free at home to do the job for her. Connie and Reiner, too engrossed in a game of checkers they had fished out from somewhere. Pieck, deep asleep, though uncharacteristically so. Jean, always with Armin. To make matters worse, on his way out this morning, heading to the Chancellor’s office, Armin had asked her if he’d get the seal today. 

Damn it all. 

Today the bells of the shop sound like a guillotine coming down on her neck. She shouldn’t have been so stupid as to give away Armin’s name, at the very least. But of course she had. 

Damn it all!

“Right on time,” The man says, emerging from a curtained doorway she never even noticed before. “I’ve got them ready.”

His matter-of-fact tone of voice puts her nerves a little at rest. Maybe he isn’t the sort to think much of what anyone says or does, in which case, all the better for her. Letting a little sigh of relief escape through her lips, she leans against the reception desk while he rattles around in the back of the shop and returns with a rich maroon coloured velvet pouch.

“Here you go,” He says, placing it before her. “You can try it out if you want.”

Annie does so, emptying the contents of the pouch. Out comes a stamp pad loaded with ink and a square shaped seal. The man slides a piece of paper forward and she presses the rubber seal into the inkpad and onto the paper. The Wings of Freedom are born on a canvas of white, precise, sharp and majestic. This would be their new symbol now. Going forth, for everything they would stand for and do. 

“It’s great. Thanks,” She nods, putting them back inside the pouch and paying the man for it. But before she makes a move to leave, he coughs and stops her.

“Miss. Take this too.” He slides another pouch, small and blue, toward her and Annie frowns. 

“What is this?” 

“Open it.” He urges.

Curiously, she pulls the mouth open and the air rushes out of her lungs. A family-stamp, red, long and beautiful, gleams at her with a companion inkpad of its own.

“What–”

For the first time since she’s met him, the man breaks into a smile. “I felt like making it for you. So take it.”

Her heartbeat begins to race, and she struggles to get her words out smoothly. “But I didn’t– I’m not–”

“No, I think it’s a great idea.” He nods seriously.

“... What is?” She whispers, eyes wide and flushing in the face.

“I proposed to my wife like this too. I made a family stamp with our names together and asked her to marry me.”

Fucking hell! Annie reels back in shock. She wants to run this very second. He’d misunderstood her and how! 

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” She says hoarsely, mouth suddenly very dry. “I’m not p–proposing–”

“My dear, don’t be afraid. I have no doubt he’ll say yes.” He grins, with a knowing look over his pince-nez. “I’m not charging you for it. I recognized that look from my younger days and felt a wave of nostalgia. My wife is no more, but if I could, I would go back to those times when we were young, silly and deeply in love.”

Oh. So he’s a widower now. He continues, “We call it a hanko, here. The family stamp. I miss my wife very much, but I keep myself happy with the memories we shared. Our love was pure and everlasting.” He sighs, looking into the distance where the sun begins its descent. “I’m waiting to join her again, you know,” He smiles at Annie. “I can’t wait.”

Annie swallows, holding the hanko in her hands, nervous and terrified inside.

“So take it. Be not afraid to love, my dear.”

In bed that night, Annie turns the hanko over and over in her palms. Sleepless and restless, she studies every groove and imperfection marring its surface in the dim candlelight. It feels like she’s given her feelings some tangible weight, when it sits in the hollow of her palm. When she opens the cap, there it is, his name split into three syllables encircled in red. With flutters inside her chest and heat flooding her eyes, she clutches it to her heart. Yet another inanimate object that has come to mean so much in so little time. Like her ring, except this isn’t tainted by blood and death. This is clean, full of hope, and entirely him. 

The old man’s words keep echoing inside her head. Our love was pure and everlasting. He had a name for it, a way to describe it. How deep do her feelings for Armin run? Can she name it? Describe it? Can she quantify it? 

The clock says two in the morning. She’s not going to get any sleep at all tonight, at this rate.

Sighing, she turns on her side, bringing the blankets up to her chin, when she hears low thuds and… sobbing, from the next room. Pieck’s room. Sitting up, she twists to face the shared wall behind her bed.

She knocks on hollow wood. "Pieck?" But there's no response, the sobbing continues.

Alarmed, she throws back the covers and gets out of bed barefooted, exits her room and knocks on the closed door. "Pieck?"

There's still no answer, so she turns the knob – it's not locked – and pushes it open. "I'm coming in."

Pieck's room is full of plants. 

Big and small, potted and hanging, on every inch of flat surface and every hook and nail on the wall and ceiling. The dresser is crammed with plants, as is the top of her cupboard, some of which hang down their delicate tendrils. There are pots lining the floor along the walls, and pots by the foot of her bed. Pots hanging from the hook rack meant to put up coats and hats. Pots by the windowsill. Leaves of different colours and shapes and sizes every which way she looks. Some vines have even begun to snake along her wall, crawling upwards, claiming it as their own. 

And there by the side of her bed, Pieck sits on the floor, with a small pot cradled between her palms. Her cheeks are streaked with the tracks of dried tears, fresh trails staining over them, and her eyes lifeless except for the dull reflection of the flickering flame of a single candle in the room. 

"Pieck?" Annie calls, more alarmed than ever. "What’s wrong…?"

She looks at her then, and smiles sadly. "It's dying, Annie."

"What is?"

She holds up the pot in which sits a small plant. "This. I don't know what I did wrong, but it's dying."

"Uh… let me see," Annie shuts the door and crosses over, kneeling to inspect the plant. Oval shaped thick leaves, yellowing all over, and falling off with the slightest movement. 

"I watered it so carefully but… it's still dying," Pieck's voice trembles. 

"I don't really know anything about plants," Annie admits softly, taking the pot out of her hands and setting it on an inch of bare space on the dresser. "But the shop where you bought it can probably help. I'll go find out in the morning, if you want."

She says nothing, dark eyes moist and unfocused. 

“Alright?”

Finally, Pieck nods. "Yeah."

"Okay. Get off the floor, it's cold," Annie tugs on her upper arm and she relents, rising to sit on the bed and scooting back against the headboard. Annie sinks her knees into the mattress beside her quietly, waiting for Pieck to start first. Guilt rolls inside her stomach. She should've asked much earlier. How many nights had Pieck been awake like this, crying?

"I wish you'd gotten to know him even more." Pieck begins eventually. "You would've seen right through him."

"I knew him."

"Not long enough."

That was true. 

"But you know what he was like, on the outside. Brash. Arrogant. Cocky, even. Also cold. It put people off, and sometimes brought us trouble when he acted recklessly. But he was a very different person on the inside." 

Pieck shifts a little, bending her knees and hugging them. "I saw that side of him first when I noticed him looking at me furtively, several times during the day," She chuckles through her blocked nose. "And he'd try to deny it every time I caught him staring. He was so stubborn about it that I even gave up.

"But when we were fighting a war in the East, I was hurt, badly. My chest was blown up. It took a while to heal from that. I saw the panic in his eyes, the fear. He stayed with me. When I was well enough, I told him to stop lying… and he did. He didn’t deny it anymore. That was… six years ago.”

Six years. A long time to have been together. 

“That seems like a lot, but really, our time together wasn’t much. Fighting wars here and there, many times we were apart. Sometimes together, but in our titan forms, and then we’d get hurt and need to heal… sometimes we had to set off on new missions without even seeing each other properly. Really, we didn’t have a lot.”

The candlelight throws long, dancing shadows across the walls, and Pieck sniffs before continuing. “We made do with what we had. What we could. There weren’t a lot of places where we could be together alone. Our rooms weren’t private. Our homes in Liberio weren’t private. Sharp eyes everywhere, hidden in the darkness, watching us, because even with our red armbands, we were still scum. But we managed somehow, stealing hours from here and there and stitching them together to make it last as long as possible.

“Alone, he was soft. He was quiet. He was gentle. Even kind, can you imagine that?” Pieck tries to laugh, a tear falling to the sheets. “And he cared deeply, so very, very deeply. Not just for me, for everybody. He was loyal. He was very brave. Not very romantic himself, but he never laughed when I was overly so.” She wipes the corner of her eyes. 

“Annie, can you open the bottom draw of the dresser?” Pieck asks, hands over her eyes, and Annie complies, reaching down and pulling it open. There’s nothing there except for a small blue drawstring pouch which she looks at inquiringly. “Yes. That.”

She passes it to her, and Pieck holds it between her trembling hands, suppressing tears from spilling. Annie watches her draw it open and pull out a thin silver chain, with a silver ring hanging from the middle. It glints brilliantly in the incandescent light in only the way highly polished metal can. 

“After he inherited the Jaw, he got this made. He took permission from Magath and Zeke and took a day off to go somewhere.” Pieck turns the ring over between her fingers. “There’s not a lot that titans can’t destroy, but he got someone to make this using a special metal alloy. He even tested it with his jaw,” She chuckles, eyes lost in a far off memory. “He was very proud. Said it won’t corrode, it won’t break, and it won’t get destroyed no matter what. He made two, one for me and one for himself. This is his ring which he gave to me. And he kept mine.”

She pulls the ring around her ring finger where it hangs off loosely, the chain dangling below. “We couldn’t always wear it. Indestructible as it was, it could still get lost during battles. So we kept it safe, and when things were quiet and calm, he would fasten this round my neck and I did the same for him. It became a sort of ritual. We never wore it ourselves, always only by the other.”

Annie leans her head back against the wall, feeling lost in a storm of emotions. Love runs deep. Deeper than lost rivers under the earth. Pieck had promised to tell her sometime about Porco, but Annie hadn’t been prepared to feel this shattered and broken. 

“He was realistic. Didn’t like it when the others talked carelessly about a time far ahead in the future… because we would be long dead before then. But this one time before the war in the East, when we were sent to conduct a recce, I came across a house,” Her voice turns soft. “It was beautiful. It was covered in ivy and morning glories and it had plants hanging from everywhere. I fell in love with it at once. That evening, when we were by ourselves, I told Porco that we’d live in a house like that, and I’ll fill it with plants.

“I joked that I would fill it with so many plants that he wouldn’t even be able to find me,” Her laugh comes out watery. “You know what he said?”

Annie feels her eyes prick. “What?”

“He said,” She chokes, a wave of tears spilling out of her eyes. “Fill it with enough plants that nobody can find us. Then we can live out the rest of our time in peace and quiet." 

It's like a harpoon driving repeatedly into her heart. 

Pieck drops her face into her palms, sobbing heavily. "And now… I've filled my room with plants, but he's not here with me. He's gone. Gone before I could see him one last time, before I could kiss him one last time. Why is he gone, Annie? Why is he gone?"

Her own eyes quickly blur with tears but she clamps down on her jaw to control herself. Why indeed. Why did they lose so many lives, so many friends, so many priceless things, only to be left behind with memories? For her, precious things were numbered, capable of being counted off on a single hand, but it had hurt every time, to watch others lose what they had treasured more than their own lives. It had hurt, somewhere deep within. 

"I never even… got to say goodbye."

Pieck crumples forward and clutches onto Annie's knees for dear life, wailing loudly. Annie guides her head to rest on her lap and hesitantly, pulls her fingers through her long, black hair. She strokes from the scalp to the ends and keeps it up as Pieck curls into a ball, soaking Annie's lap with her tears. She wonders if it will wake up the boys downstairs. The dying plant sits on the dresser, drooping sadly between the others. 

It's only when Pieck's tears subside and exhaustion makes her drift off to sleep, does Annie pay attention to her own squeezing heart. The candle has long since gone out. Sitting there in the darkness against the headboard, with Pieck sleeping on her lap, Annie lets tears of her own fall silently. 

She could've lost him anytime. Any minute, any second, while she was stuck inside her crystal, unable to protect him. Being a shifter didn't mean you were immortal. He could've been eaten. He could've been caught and fed to someone, mercilessly. He could've been shred to pieces so small he wouldn't have been able to regenerate. She could've lost him in a split second and never seen him again. She would've broken out of her crystal and learned of his death several years ago. She would never have heard of his feelings, never have told him of hers, never have lost herself in his eyes, never have kissed him, never have felt his touches, never have laughed… never have made the hanko. 

But he's alive. 

Armin chops up onions, his eyes tearing. Beside him, Jean breaks several eggs in a large bowl, whisking it with a spoon. He elbows him. 

"This alright?" 

Jean glances at his work. "Yeah. A little finer would've been better though."

"I'll keep that in mind. What next?"

"Green chillies," Jean passes him a dozen. "Finely chopped too."

Armin gets back to work, the clack of the knife against the chopping board just one of the many noises this morning. Outside the window in front of him, birds chirp and land on their grassy garden, searching for worms and insects. Breakfast had been prepared for them by the housekeeper, but Jean had seen the crate of fresh eggs and decided to make omelettes. 

"I'm back!" Reiner announces loudly, as he enters the kitchen with the newspaper tucked under his arm. "Look at what I found." He brandishes a flyer in Armin's face. 

"What is it?" Armin replies, not taking his eyes off the chillies. 

"I met a lady in the village who was talking about going for a dip in the hot springs. When I asked her what they were, she gave me this flyer," Reiner beams, clearly excited. "It's a hot water bath!"

Jean groans, mixing salt and spices into the eggs in the bowl. "Are you a pervert? You always want to take baths together."

Reiner ignores him. "We should go this evening." 

Connie mumbles from the kitchen table where he's slumped over, half asleep. "I don't think the weather looks good enough for that."

"Oh come on, how’s a little rain going to hurt us?"

"Not a little rain, a thunderstorm, you blockhead."

"He’s a pervert."

Clearly annoyed with everyone else, he turns back to Armin for support. "How about it? This evening?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Armin mutters, distracted, and Reiner grins with triumph. 

"Good morning," The stairs creak and Pieck's voice greets them through a yawn. Armin turns around in surprise, as do all the others. Right behind her is Annie, looking like she's just rolled out of bed and walked straight downstairs.

"Morning Pieck," Armin says, wide-eyed and uncertain. "Uh, are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," She smiles sleepily, taking a seat beside Connie, who simply turns on his other cheek to face her. "Sorry, did I worry all of you? I was feeling a little out of sorts. I’m okay now! Annie’s been looking after me.”

“That’s good,” Armin says quietly, glancing at Annie who sits next to Pieck with her eyes barely open, before turning back to his chopping board. ‘ A little out of sorts’ was a gross understatement. They had all heard Pieck crying three nights ago and worried, Reiner suggested they check on her. But going upstairs – something they didn’t really do often, since the girls needed their privacy – they saw Annie, consoling a distraught Pieck. Deciding against interfering, they’d returned downstairs. She hadn’t come out of her room since then and Annie had been taking her meals upstairs. Of course, after much consideration, Reiner told them that Porco’s death was the likely reason. 

However, she’s looking a little better and well-rested this morning. 

“Jean, I’m done.” He hands the chopped chillies over and Jean throws everything together in the bowl and hands it back to him. 

“Mix this well for me.”

“Pieck, there’s a hot spring nearby. Do you and Annie want to come?” Reiner asks, drawing a chair out and taking a seat. 

“Hot spring?”

“Basically a hot water bath.”

“Reiner, I'm telling you, the weather is turning bad.” Connie mumbles again.

“I said it’ll be fine. So, want to come, you two?”

“Sure,” Pieck chirps. “Where is it?”

“Behind the house,” Reiner grins. “We haven’t seen this side of the hill have we? Anyway I was told it’s a ten minute walk away and there’s a forest to go through.”

“Okay,” She yawns. 

“Pieck, eggs?” Armin asks, when Jean takes the bowl back from him and pours the mix into the frying pan where it hisses, sizzling and emitting a mouth-watering aroma.

“Yes please.”

“Annie?” He tries to hide his smile when he looks at her, taking in her disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes. She always looks extra pretty in the morning, though he’s sure she won’t agree with his sentiment. 

“Hm.” Is her response with closed eyelids, and he turns away, chuckling to himself. 

Jean turns off the gas and picks up the frying pan. “Knife! Plates! Quick!" And Armin goes along with his frenzy, pulling out plates and helping him cut the large, thick omelette into six pieces. While Jean begins handing them out to the others around the table, Armin slices his portion into another half, and places it on Annie's plate. She looks a little tired and sleep deprived, he thinks.

Over breakfast, Jean is bombarded with compliments for his prize-winning omelette and he couldn’t look more pleased. Especially when Pieck’ gifts him with shrill ‘ooohh’s and ‘aaahhh’s, he does his best to not blush and Armin shares a look with Reiner, smiling. 

“This really reminds me of the cook-off back then,” Connie says with his mouth full. “You made this omelette then too.”

“Oh yeah,” Reiner guffaws. “God, what a fuss that was. Brings back memories.”

“An omelette versus a pork steak!”

“When was this?” Pieck asks curiously.

“Before we graduated from training,” Armin replies. “It was a silly fight that led to it.”

“And you broke your leg,” Jean jabs his finger at him. “And when you pulled out of helping, so did Annie. I wonder why.” He grins slyly and Connie begins to laugh.

“I forgot about that! I remember now!”

“Anyway, his omelette won,” Reiner tells Pieck. “It was his mother’s dish.”

“And who made the pork steak?”

Ah.

Stillness spreads over them like a soft blanket of grief, almost invisible, but unyielding. Here they are, eating a hearty breakfast that Sasha cannot enjoy. Connie puts his spoon down with a clink and answers quietly.

“Sasha. Sasha Braus.”

Pieck drops her eyes, her voice a soft whisper. “Is that who Gabi shot?”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches taut, like a tightly pulled cable wire and when the breakfast begins to turn cold, Jean picks up his spoon again with a tight jaw, and the others follow suit. Reiner coughs, turning to Armin, desperate to turn the air lighter.

“Will you come back early? So we can all go together.”

“Yeah,” Armin nods, blinking back his sorrow. “The meeting with the Chancellor is bound to be short today. I’ll make it back before three.”

“Alright.”

The path to the hot springs is quiet and beautiful. A set of steps from the back garden lead into a dark bamboo grove, lined on either side by a white fence that cleaves a clear path cutting through it. After a five minute walk under the tall, leaning trees, the foliage changes dramatically, giving way to a small forest of trees so thick and lush they seem to have been in existence since the beginning of time itself. The temperature drops here and it’s much cooler than outside; the thick canopy above them allows only a little light to shine through with patience. Stone steps carved several centuries ago and covered with moss and fallen leaves lead them downward and through the forest. This little pathway is lined with street lights too, though holding not only quaint bulbs, but also ivy, birds and squirrels. 

It’s probably beautiful at night, Armin thinks, glancing at Annie. Maybe they can take a walk together sometime. 

Idle chatter punctuates their walk for another five minutes until the forest corridor opens into a garden of well maintained flower bushes, rock arrangements and a pond. At the centre of it is an elegant building, built entirely of well polished wood with bamboo curtains swaying above the porch. The hot springs inn.

Crossing into the garden, Connie looks doubtfully at the dark clouds. “I really don’t think the weather’s going to hold off long enough.”

Reiner dismisses him with a grin. “We’re here! Might as well enjoy it. It’ll be fine!”

“Also,” Armin eyes the inn itself, no sign of life within. “I don’t think anybody’s here.” But he's proven wrong not a second later.

“Oh my! Welcome!” The front door slides open and a woman rushes out toward them. “I wasn’t expecting anybody today, what with the weather and all.”

“I told you!” Connie hisses at Reiner before turning to the lady with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, we’ve inconvenienced you–”

“No, no, not at all! We’re still open of course.” She waves them inside. “Please, do come in!”

The six of them climb gleaming wooden steps and enter the inn, which immediately welcomes them with a cosy warmth. There’s not much furniture anywhere, only low tables and desks and a few cushions on the floor atop a sprawling straw mat. The woman ushers them in and slides the door shut. Armin looks around. This architecture is wildly different to what he’s seen so far. 

“My name is Akira,” She beams at them and Armin notices she’s also dressed differently… very similar to Kiyomi Azumabito’s robes. Ah, so she must be from Hizuru, settled here. Kald had good ties with Hizuru after all. 

“Is this your first time in a hot spring?” She asks and Jean nods for all of them. “Wonderful!I hope you’ll have a relaxing experience.” She extends her arm when a young girl, also in robes like her, emerges from another room and bows at them. “Oh this is my daughter. We run this place together. Hikari, go check if the washrooms need any preparations.” She nods at the younger girl who scurries away.

“Now, if you’ll follow me,” She leads them through a corridor. “Since it’s your first time here, I’ll explain how this works. Here,” She slides open another door and gestures inside, to a room tiled in smooth stone, with a stack of wooden stools and buckets in a corner. “Is your washroom. You wash yourself thoroughly before getting into the hot spring.”

Reiner makes a confused noise. “So… a bath before a bath?”

“Yes,” Akira laughs. “So the hot springs remain clean and hygienic. Please don’t let your hair dip into the hot spring either. This is the men’s washroom, and for the women, it’s right next door. My daughter will provide towels, soap and shampoo. When you’re done, please slide open the doors on the opposite end and you can get into the hot water. After the bath, you can relax in the lounge where there are drinks. We also have beer. Anybody have any questions?”

Nobody says anything, so Pieck steps up and thanks her. With a bow, Akira leaves.

“Well boys, have fun,” Pieck waves at them before hooking her arm with Annie’s, and Armin catches her eyes for a brief second, giving her a small smile and mouthing ‘see you later ’ before she disappears into the room next door.

“Alright!” Reiner booms, a little too enthusiastically, striding into the washroom. “This is much more fun than I expected.”

“I still think you’re a pervert with a bathing festish,” Jean grumbles, closing the door behind them and unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Excuse me,” A meek voice follows a knock on the door before it slides open to reveal the innkeeper’s daughter, holding a stack of towels and a basket of bathing supplies. She steps inside and places them on a low shelf. “Your towels, soap and shampoo.” She says, sweeping her eyes over them.

“Thanks,” Reiner grins wide. “This place is wonderful!”

“Quit flirting,” Connie mutters, elbowing him.

“I’m not flirting,” Reiner mutters back with a glare.

“You are, look at your googly eyes.” Jean snorts. 

Armin shakes his head in amusement and steps forward to pick a towel for himself, when he feels a poke on his arm. He looks at the girl, idling by the door. “Uh, yes?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes, staring at the ground instead, before holding out a bottle. “T–this shampoo smells very nice, a–and it’s good for your hair.”

“Oh,” Armin blinks, taking it from her. “Thank you.” He smiles at her with a grateful nod.

“And! Um,” She twiddles her thumbs, eyes fiercely locked on the floor. “The towels, you can use as many as you like.”

“... Alright,” He smiles again, feeling a little confused. “Thank you again.”

She meets his eyes, quickly bows and shuts the door closed on them.

When he turns back, nobody looks at him, struggling to keep straight faces. Jean’s got his cheeks bitten, Reiner’s trying to keep his shoulders from shaking, and Connie’s making strange faces to keep from grinning.

“What?” He questions, feeling puzzled.

“Nothing.” 

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Let’s wash off.” Jean turns his back on him, getting undressed.

On the stool, washing himself with warm water scooped from a bucket, Armin tries not to let a wave of insecurity crash over him. The shampoo the girl gave him smells too heady for his liking, so he uses what the others use, and keeps his eyes focused straight ahead. Being the smallest person in the room isn’t something to feel particularly happy about – if he had been a little like Jean, or Reiner, or Connie even; a little taller, a little stronger, a little faster, maybe he could’ve protected some people and prevented their deaths. He knows he’s being silly, irrational even. So he tries to put these intrusive thoughts out of his head and enjoy the new experience. He tries, he really does. 

When they’re done, they slide the other door open and are greeted by a breathtaking sight. A large, clear pool of natural hot water; so hot that steam visibly rises into the air. The pool is surrounded by tall rocks, glistening with moisture and holding in between the cracks and spaces, bushy trees and lush plants. It looks deliciously inviting and he can’t help but feel the urgent need to let his tired body soak in that. To his right, he notices the pool cordoned off by a particularly massive row of boulders and thinks he hears a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere beyond. Oh. So the girls are over there, though he can’t see anything.

Annie’s there, in the hot water… naked. 

Fuck. Blood rushes to his face and he looks away sharply, blinking furiously to think of something else, anything else. If he sports a boner right now in front of these guys, he’ll never hear the end of it. 

Connie whistles. “Woah. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Ugh, it’s hot!” Reiner grins, getting in with a loud sigh. “Get in, get in!”

A collective round of groans passes around when they all sink into the scalding water; even Armin releases a grunt of satisfaction when the high temperatures pull him in and seep into his bones, stretching muscles loose and nerves looser. Had his body still been this tense? Letting his eyes fall closed and exhaling loudly, he feels himself going limp and relaxed when the steam hits him square in the face.

“This feels like heaven,” Jean mumbles, leaning against a rock.

“Damn right.” Connie sighs.

But as they grow calmer in the water, the sky grows angrier and Armin looks up with worry. The clouds pass by quickly; dark and heavy, likely to break very soon and they’ll have to scramble out of the hot spring. Bad timing, really, but he can’t find it in himself to bother very much more; not when his body feels like it’s being massaged out of years’ worth of tightness. 

But his peace is soon broken when Reiner focuses a pair of teasing eyes on him. 

“Sooo,” He sings. “Did you use the nice-smelling shampoo?”

“Hm? No,” Armin splashes water into his face. “It smelled too strong so I didn’t.”

“Bummer,” Reiner snickers, sharing a look with Jean.

“Why? What are you guys laughing about, really?” 

“Come on, Armin,” Connie sighs in exasperation. “You have to be a little more self-aware, you know.”

“What?”

“The innkeeper’s daughter! She was starstruck with you.”

Armin feels like he’s been thrown off balance from his gear. “What, that’s ridiculous–”

“Ridiculous, he says,” Reiner gasps, looking incredulous. “From the moment she saw you, she was blushing all over.”

“Yeah I noticed that,” Jean chimes in, grinning. 

This is new territory and he feels at a loss on how to react – but surely, they’re just reading too much into it. “I didn’t notice anything like that… you’re just overthinking.”

“Of course you wouldn’t notice!” Connie points his finger accusatorily. “You’re blind to these things! I mean, it’s nice and all, having Annie, but you have to know the effect you have on other people, for your own good.”

Armin colours, and fast. “What in the world, there’s no such thing–”

“Goddamnit, what is he talking about?” Reiner complains to Jean. “Someone tell him. He’s very good-looking–”

“–and he’s filled out nicely–” His face turns scarlet when Connie slaps his shoulder and chest..

“–and he’s smart–”

“Stop,” Armin tries, but they don’t pay him any heed. 

“–I don’t understand what you don’t see–”

“–I think he’s got a great smile, remember at the dance when–”

“–right, but have you seen him when he’s angry, he’s got that– that look –”

“–smouldering?”

“Right!”

“Please stop,” Armin mumbles weakly, sinking deeper into the water. He’s sure it’s not the temperature that’s burning his cheeks and while he’s a little flattered, he doesn’t believe any of it. But– But Annie had told him he looked nice. Didn’t he believe her? But she’s probably biased because she loves him. He feels like a specimen under Hange’s microscope while his friends continue to discuss and glorify qualities he refuses to believe he really has, and he wants to crawl into the nearest hole and hide. 

They turn to him in unison, wide grins plastered over their faces.

“We should tell Annie.”

His blood runs cold. “Absolutely not,” He hisses.

“I think she’d appreciate knowing,” Reiner smirks. “You know she doesn’t like competition, right? And right now she’s got competition.”

“No she doesn’t,” Armin insists, glaring at him. “First of all, you’re jumping to conclusions here–”

“HEY GIRLS! YOU THERE?!” Connie hollers, relishing Armin’s look of horror.

“Connie, stop–”

“YEAH!” Pieck’s voice travels from the other side. 

“TH–THEN ANNIE SHOULD KNOW– MMPH!” He slaps his hand over Connie’s mouth, while the others erupt in laughter. 

“Shut up!”

Jean takes charge, clearing his throat. “ANNIE SHOULD KNOW THAT– OUCH! ” Armin kicks him underwater, earning a wince.

“Please shut up!”

“What should Annie know?!” Pieck yells, sounding overjoyed. Dear god, no. Now this is the last thing he wants, something unnecessary and untrue bothering Annie.

“Nothing! Sorry!” Armin calls back, irritated beyond capacity and glaring at his chortling friends, who only laugh harder.  

“ARMIN’S GOT AN ADMIRER–!” Reiner blurts out, and his kick isn’t early enough.

“Reiner!” He snaps.

“Who is that and how did it happen?!" Pieck now sounds gleeful and Armin groans, giving up and slumping back against a rock. No, this is going to happen even if he gets angry. He only hopes to god it doesn’t bother Annie.

Free from his glares, Jean yells back, "TELL YOU AFTER!"

"I want the full story!" 

"YEAH, YEAH." 

In his final attempt at getting them to shut up once and for all, he thrashes water into Jean’s and Reiner’s faces, but they don’t look the least bit perturbed, whistling and hooting like they’ve won a battle. Armin pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. No, he treasures his friends, every one of them; he even puts up with their teasing and finds some tolerance for it, but of late they’ve been testing his patience.

Especially his patience where his time with Annie is concerned. 

“You should be a little more confident in yourself,” Reiner sounds genuinely concerned. “You’re a great guy, Armin.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He mutters, eyes still closed. He’s sure Reiner means well, but he’s not in the mood to accept compliments.

“I mean, without it, you’ll perform poorly.”

His eyes fly open. What now?

“Think about it, if you worry so much, you won’t get it up–”

“Why are you bringing that up?” Connie laughs.

“I mean, he and Annie are together now, I felt I should give him some brotherly advice.”

The silence that falls over them is stifling, at least to Armin. He keeps his eyes on the water, feeling his jaw clench with tightly controlled temper, while the others squirm uncomfortably.

“What the hell Reiner, why would you say that?” Connie groans, closing his eyes. “I didn’t want to know that!”

“What–”

“Didn’t I tell you all not to underestimate him?” Jean smirks. “Remember the night we slept in his room, he was–”

Now this is just too much.

“Tell us, Jean,” Armin says quietly, “What was I doing?”

Jean’s smirk falters when Armin fixes him with an icy gaze, and the words die on his lips. Armin isn’t really angry. No. But his patience is running thin, his tolerance thinner, and they’ve destroyed the privacy of the one safe space he has – his room – by discussing it for no reason. He’s not angry, but he will be, if he doesn’t maintain his grip. 

“Nothing…”

He suddenly feels tired. That’s it. He’s out. Sighing, he gets out of the water.

“Wait– Armin–”

“Hold up, hold up– we’re sorry–”

“Carry on,” He tells them tiredly. “I’m going to bed.” And he slides the door open, closing it behind him.

Throwing on his clothes, he feels irritated and upset. Why is it becoming increasingly difficult to keep his time with Annie, just his? Now he can’t even have her in his room anymore because it’s been taken under interest and scrutinised like a secret coded letter; no more will he feel at peace if they ever get anywhere past their current stage, in his bed, with watchful eyes and ears all around. 

Is he being punished for something? For all his mistakes? It’s an irrational and silly thought and he knows as much – just… with how frustrated he is, that’s what it feels like – a punishment and an extraordinarily cruel one, at that. He just wants to be closer with the girl he loves and make something beautiful together with her.

Although… maybe Reiner is right. Oh he can get it up, alright, but maybe he’ll perform poorly. Maybe he won’t even be able to satisfy Annie.

Running a hand through his damp hair, he succumbs to his anxiety and goes home.

Annie washes off the last of the suds covering her shoulders and arms and sets the bucket of water down. She touches her pinned up hair lightly to make sure it's still intact and stands up to wash off the stool of any remaining soap suds. When done, she glances at Pieck who's still sitting on her stool, motionless and staring off into space, wet hair sticking to her back and shoulders, and a handful of shampoo resting on her knee, facing palm up. 

"Pieck?" 

"Hm?"

"Are you not feeling… uh, want to go back?"

"No," Pieck hums softly. She raises her cupped palm up. "Need to shampoo my hair but I'm feeling a little too tired."

Annie lets her eyes roam over her deflated frame. Pieck, always buoyant and carefree, now limp and lifeless, and she’s never seen her like this before.

"Want me to wash your hair?"

Pieck turns to shoot her a grateful smile. "Will you?"

Annie carefully treads over the wet slippery stone and crosses the distance between them. She leans down to scoop water and pour it over her long, black tresses, wetting it thoroughly, and running her fingers through it. Pieck closes her eyes and leans her head back so Annie can work on it better. 

"Sorry. I think the last few days really zapped my energy."

"That’s to be expected. You cried a lot," Annie says, tapping Pieck's arm. "Give me the shampoo."

Pieck raises her hand and Annie scoops the floral scented gel out of her palm, rubbing it between her fingers and sliding them into Pieck's scalp, working up a rich lather. 

"This is nice." Pieck sighs contently, angling her head in whatever direction Annie’s fingers press into. “Very nice.”

She understands. So much of their time that could’ve been spent seeing, learning, feeling, and experiencing – robbed from them. In Annie’s case, time that could’ve been spent peacefully with her father, drinking tea and maybe taking care of a garden. Gone, taken, because politics always sought power, drank blood, and sent them to war.

And now here, after all the separation and fighting; after the losses and the wounds; after scars that would follow them to their graves – under a heavy umbrella shared by grief and solace, she massages jasmine infused shampoo into the hair of a girl who she’d trained day and night with but never truly gotten to know.

Oh shit, she’s lathered too much. “You look like a snowman.”

Pieck bursts into laughter, finally rendering her motionless body back to life. “A snowman!”

“Yeah. There’s a mountain of lather above your head.” Annie arranges it as best as she can in the shape of a ball that jiggles with every small movement Pieck makes.

She turns around with a smile and raises her eyebrow at Annie. “A pretty snowman?”

Pretty is an understatement. She’s beautiful both outside and inside; sharp, level-headed and non-judgemental and Annie doesn’t doubt for a moment that Pieck would’ve treated her enemies with much more compassion than she ever did. 

So she nods, because it’s the truth. “A pretty snowman. But I have to wash it off now.”

Pieck tsks, turning back forward. “Shame.”

Water carries the shampoo suds down in a swift rush, traveling along the stone flooring and swirling around the drain. Annie does the best she can to rinse it all out; her own hair is short and easily manageable while Pieck’s is not. Detangling this must be a pain, she thinks, and just looking at it makes her heave a quiet sigh of tiredness. 

With that done, Annie grabs the towel and runs it through the strands, trying not to rough it all up. Pieck stays quiet with words, only humming an occasional tune and complying with Annie’s touches to turn her head this way and that.

“Okay, I’m done. Do you want to wrap it up or?”

“No, I’ll tie it up.”

Pieck stands, rolling her damp hair into a smooth topknot, and Annie reaches to wash off her stool as well. “Come on.”

Sliding the wooden door open, the hot springs are not what Annie expected at all – a natural pool of water with steam rising, bordered all around with large boulders, shrubs, dwarf trees and ferns, and the open sky above, dark and swirling with massive rain clouds. From beyond a row of enormous black rocks, big enough to be broken crumbs of a towering mountain, come peals of laughter and exuberant chortling. 

“They can’t see us can they?” Annie wonders.

“If they could, they’d have shut up by now,” Pieck snorts, feet padding on the wooden boards surrounding the water. Dipping a foot in, Pieck hisses. “Oh Annie, it’s hot! ”

“Oof,” Annie groans, submerging her leg up to the knee. “It is hot.” With much hissing and grunting and sighing, they make it in, and submerge themselves neck-deep.

The water caresses every limb in her body, seeping into her skin and soaking her muscles and tissues, fibres and nerves with a delicious warmth only natural water seems capable of doing. The warm bath on Fort Salta was nothing compared to this. Annie closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, feeling her tense body relax into the lull of the water rippling around her. Steam immediately forms beads on her face and behind her neck before gently rolling down under its own weight. This… there’s nothing like this. She could live here forever.

“This is magic,” Pieck murmurs, also with her eyes closed and losing herself in the heat. "I feel much better already." 

The light from a lantern reflects off the water and catches the necklace around her neck shimmering. Porco's ring rests in the hollow between her collarbones. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Annie begins and Pieck opens her eyes.

“Sure.”

“With you and Po-”

“HEY GIRLS! YOU THERE?!”

Confused and rudely interrupted, Annie blinks at Pieck when Connie’s voice travels through the air from the boy’s end to theirs. A fit of laughter follows which immediately stops with an audible slap!

“YEAH!” Pieck yells back. 

“TH–THEN ANNIE SHOULD KNOW– MMPH!” 

“Shut up!” 

Annie cocks her head. That’s Armin’s voice.

“ANNIE SHOULD KNOW THAT– OUCH! ”

“Please shut up!”

Thoroughly confused but now extremely curious, Annie raises her eyebrows at Pieck who’s starting to smile as if she’s caught on to something.

“What should Annie know?!” She hollers.

“Nothing! Sorry!” Armin calls back, sounding irritated. Irritated? She stares into the water. 

“ARMIN’S GOT AN ADMIRER–!”

“Reiner!”

Annie stiffens and she doesn’t even realise it until her toes hurt from being clamped together under the water. What the hell? Pieck slaps a hand to her mouth before erupting into giggles. 

Pieck wiggles her eyebrows at her. "Who is that and how did it happen?!"

This time Jean's voice comes back, joyful and uninterrupted. "TELL YOU AFTER!"

"I want the full story!" 

"YEAH, YEAH."

Water sloshes wildly on the other side and someone – Jean? – guffaws noisily. Another round of chortling ensues and devolves into cackles when someone presumably thrashes water on the others. Annie continues staring into the water. He's got a what now?

Pieck laughs, clearly tickled by these new events. "Well well well. You need to be on the lookout now."

Annie blinks, feeling lost, irked and bothered all at once, setting Pieck off into another fit of giggles. "Oh dear. I forgot how all of this feels. Annoying isn't it? I had this problem with Porco too."

"With Porco…?"

"Yeah," She sighs with a smile, pulling her shoulders up out of the water. "He was a real stunner, you know? I wish you could've seen him before… anyway." She pulls in a steady breath. "He got a lot of attention everywhere he went and it bothered me to no end. Of course, I couldn't do anything but take it all lightly. And he was the sort of guy who ignored it all with a straight face. Grumbled something like 'I have no time to be concerned about this', every time Zeke pointed it out with glee." 

Annie watches Pieck back up against a rock opposite her, ferns and leaves framing her head. Then she frowns, thinking, "Or maybe he secretly enjoyed it all and pretended not to care."

Oh. 

But Pieck shakes her head at Annie, smiling. "In your case it looks like he's just too dense about these things. That's more dangerous honestly, he'll be unnecessarily nice to women and lead them on without even knowing it."

Annie grimaces under the water. She didn't need a problem like this now. Just how much work did she already have cut out for her?

"Don't worry though. I'm pretty sure he has eyes for nobody but you," Pieck winks. "But some women can be very forward in their actions, so… you might want to be a little careful with that."

Good grief. Annie spreads her arms out and draws water toward her, causing ripples to spread out far and wide, well aware that Pieck's watching her closely. She's really not cut out for all this. Jealousy? Really? Should she even be that surprised? If she thought Armin was good-looking, of course other girls would also think the same. Goddamnit.  

"You have to enjoy this too, you know," Pieck says quietly. "Even the little inconveniences are precious moments. Someday you'll miss these early days."

Early days, huh. She's right, it's just been a little over a month since… since everything. Come to think about it, she already feels nostalgic about those awkward silences they shared in front of the fire in Fort Salta. When they never said anything but only shared fingertip touches and shy ‘good nights ’. 

Minutes pass in quietness at their end while the boys carry on mumbling, whispering and laughing their heads off – over what, she doesn't know, and it's beginning to get on her nerves – and Annie lets the temperatures take over her body. Dark clouds roll over their heads, threatening to spill any minute. Pieck reaches above her head to pluck off a fern leaf, and plays with it. 

If not for the steam heating up her line of vision, Annie would've bolted out of the water immediately, because reflected on the glass window at the far end of their area, is a tousled head of gold, opening the door and disappearing behind it. Craning her neck, she listens carefully and after several long minutes pass, barely makes out the feeble creak of the entrance door just before a rumble of thunder booms above them.

Armin's leaving. Why so early? Her first instinct is to get out of the water and follow him. Is he going home already? But she stops herself when she catches Pieck's watchful eyes on her and shrinks back in shame. What kind of person is she, filling her head with only thoughts of him, when Pieck's still struggling to come to terms with Porco's death?

"Get going," Pieck smiles knowingly. 

"I– sorry," Annie mumbles, avoiding her eyes, face red with shame. "It's nothing."

"Annie. Go."

"It's fine."

An exasperated sigh draws her attention to Pieck’s face, which is stern. 

"Are you pitying me?"

"Of course not. But you need–"

"I don't, right now," Pieck brushes loose strands of hair out of her face. "You want to be with him don't you? So get going."

Fucking hell, Annie drops her head to hang low in mortification. It looks awful, terrible, like all she wants is to sleep with Armin when her friend has lost the love of her life. How can she be so callous? Why can’t she be gentler? Softer? Why didn’t she ever learn to be anything but cold?

Pieck must've seen her anguish, so she wades closer and places a palm on her shoulder. "Annie," she says softly. "Why are you so embarrassed? Look at me."

Annie doesn't. 

"Look at me, please."

Finally, she meets Pieck's kind and warm eyes, and swallows her shame with great difficulty, when she smiles, patting her shoulder.

"I'll tell you something else. I've always hated my body. Simply because from the moment I turned into a shifter, all it became was a vessel of destruction. A vessel to contain a terrible power that was used to ruin other countries and kill people."

Annie watches her close her eyes and smile at some deep, secret and beautiful memory.

"But in those moments when I was with him, my body felt not like a weapon, but a temple of love. We couldn't be alone very much, but we managed it now and then, discreetly. Being close to him like that… I felt normal. Like anyone else in the world. Beautiful. Not a tool, not anybody's weapon, just a girl."

A tool. A weapon. An indestructible body, until she would die one day. A body that felt pain, was trained to feel more pain, nothing but pain, until even the pain couldn’t touch her. For as long as she can remember, Annie too, was nothing but another grenade in Marley’s arsenal, and in her father’s.

"Intimacy is nothing to be ashamed about wanting. Especially if you have someone you love. It's just a way of showing him you're willing to bare yourself, and trust him. It's just another way of loving him and letting him love you."

Pieck pulls her close, into a gentle hug. "And it's been long enough already." She whispers into Annie's ear. "He could've died. You could've died."

A tear, as hot as the water around her, falls from Annie’s eyelashes. She didn’t even know it was there. She thought she’d finished crying about it. Pieck pulls away and looks up at the ever-darkening sky. 

"If you run, I think you can make it before it rains."

Annie hesitates, wiping her eyes, but slowly pulls herself out of the water and kneels down on the wooden boards. "What'll you do when it rains? You'll be stuck here."

Pieck smirks. "What, a little storm, hurting us? Look," She tilts her head at the opposite end where the lounge is, warmly lit inside with lanterns. "That looks like a nice place to spend the night. There's beer. We'll  just get drunk and watch the rain."

Annie stands slowly, still embarrassed about this turn of events. "Um… I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Pieck chuckles. "You've kept me company for the last three days. You should be a little sick of me by now, you know."

"I wouldn't be sick of you." It's the truth.

If that's a tear collecting at the corner of Pieck's eye, or a water droplet, Annie can't tell, but she smiles gratefully. "I'm not alone, Annie. I have you."

She has to fight another tear from rolling down her face. For the first time in her cursed existence, she's done something good... just good; not to achieve an ulterior motive, not to merely rid a hurdle, just... good. Her chest wells with emotions she's not eloquent enough to put into words. But she has to pull herself together, so she takes a deep breath and nods with purpose.

"Stop crying and start running," Pieck scolds as another rumble of thunder rolls across the clouds. "Quick!" 

Annie shoots a small smile of gratitude at Pieck before crossing over into the inner washroom. But she pauses by the doorway. 

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Um… what kind of love would you say you had with Porco?"

Pieck cocks her head, puzzled. "What kind of love?"

Annie swishes her lips. This is a stupid question. “How would you describe it? Like… pure and everlasting or something…"

"Hmmm," Pieck drops her gaze to the water and thinks for a minute before smiling softly to herself.

"Passionate, honest and true."

Annie feels lost. Is she the only one who can’t describe what she feels? What is her love for Armin?

"Thanks… I'm sorry for–"

"Go!" Pieck urges, grinning, before turning her head in the direction of the boy's area. "HEY BOYS! HOW ABOUT SOME BEER?"

And that's the last Annie hears because she slams the door shut and picks up her clothes in a hurry. She pulls on her underwear, shoves her legs into her pants, tugs the hoodie around her arms and zips it up to the top. The bra is shoved into her pockets; she's got no patience for it, she's only going home, and there's nobody on the way. 

And then she pauses again because–

I always thought I'd be taking them off.

Fucking hell!! Annie curses under her breath, peeling her hoodie off and throwing it to the ground.The things she does for him, it even shocks her. When did she become this horrifyingly lovesick? Wincing at the tenderness blooming in her chest with anticipation and nervous excitement, she fastens the bra, and puts the hoodie back on, dashing out of the room the second she's dressed. Yanking open the main door which creaks lazily, she locks eyes with the innkeeper's daughter who's leaning over the wooden railings, looking dejected for some reason, but Annie pays no more attention, flying down the steps and swiftly exiting the garden.

It's embarrassing how desperate she always becomes when it concerns him. Everything is embarrassing, no, she is embarrassing. She doesn't recognise herself. Her actions, her words, everything she does is far stronger than she’d thought they were. Annie plunges into the darkness of the forest pathway, feet picking up pace rapidly. She doesn't recognise herself anymore.

With the sky flashing with lightning and growling deeply, there's no natural light here save for the gas lamps that line either side sparsely, flickering on. Rain beetles flit underneath the orange lights. Just how deep do her feelings run for him? More than life itself? She begins to run.

Pure and everlasting. Passionate, honest and true. What is Annie's love? How will she ever describe everything she feels? Because it's all a terrible mess inside her heart, inside her mind – but Pieck is right. It's been so long. She's missed so much. She's missed so much time to be with him, even if that was never her priority back then. She's missed seeing him grow up. She’s missed growing up with him.

Her slippers crunch into the soft undergrowth before slapping against stone inter-lockers as she races up the winding steps. Birds trill and squirrels chirp, also heading home before the rain pours. Just like her. Just like her, but she's going home to him . 

Annie's heart pounds when the dense canopy of primeval trees gives way to the bamboo grove. She wants to be so close to him. It's all she's wanted for a long, long time. 

Almost pitch darkness grows lighter and brighter until she emerges from the grove and sprints up the last few steps and dashes into the rear garden of their house. There's a single light burning on the first floor, and it comes from his room. A bolt of lightning cuts the sky in half before a boom of thunder and a big heavy splat of rain hits her crown. And another. And another. She flies into the back entrance just as the ground peppers with raindrops. 

Slippers fly off into some corner of the corridor when she runs up the steps, two at a time. She's stupid and silly. She's foolish and idiotic. 

But all she wants is for no spaces to exist between him and her, ever again. 

The chink of light from under his door makes her heart want to jump from her throat and run off screaming. Drowning her nerves in barely put together courage, she pushes the door open. 

Her stomach explodes in butterflies. 

Armin turns to face her, looking shell-shocked, a hand pressing a towel to the damp ends of his hair. 

Catching her breath and panting heavily, she stands there, in his open doorway, certain that she looks far worse than she imagines. But she doesn't care. 

She wants to just be a girl, with him . 

Outside, it begins to pour. 

"Can I– Can I dry your hair?"

Chapter Text

"Can I– Can I dry your hair?"

Annie's heart hammers within her ribcage, threatening to stop beating altogether and suffocate her lungs from how little oxygen she's breathing, both from her exertion and her reeling emotions. She looks stupid, foolish, and desperate but she won't take a step backward, no, because she's come here to strip herself bare and love him.

Armin stares at her with shock flooding his handsome features, a hand about to dry his damp hair stopping just short of pressing the towel to his neck. Bright blue eyes pass over her – panting, a bamboo blade lodged into the cuff of her sleeve, shoeless and eyes pleading – before he whirls his head around to stare at his window where the glass pane is fogged over. 

It pours outside, heavy, thick and opaque. 

Turning back to her, his gaze settles beyond, at his open door and the silent corridor. And she sees the realisation dawn on his face like a bucket of water over the initial shock… before his previously relaxed shoulders pick up tension and his back goes rigid. She’s alone. Nobody’s coming. 

They are alone. 

There are a thousand questions running in his head, beneath the miniscule frown of confusion pulling his eyebrows together; a thousand questions begging to be asked, but she needs him to stay quiet and just say yes , or she’ll collapse like a poorly screwed machine unable to withstand the tornado of butterflies inside her. 

Don’t ask, she begs him with her eyes. You should know. You should know why I'm here.

“Can I– your hair–?” She repeats, tripping over her own words with dwindling confidence, and watches his wide blue eyes blink once, twice, thrice, before his throat works down a swallow. 

He knows. 

Armin manages a small nod and wordlessly, tilts his head at the open door. With a light flick of her wrist, it shuts closed behind her. The soft click of the lock falling into place is like turning on the burner of a stove, the room is suddenly a little too warm. 

He sits on the edge of his bed with the towel around his neck and waits for her, elbows on his knees. Each step toward him feels like it takes forever, like time is falling too slow, like her feet for the first time in her blood-soaked life, betray their learned speed. But eventually they come to a stop and she stands between his legs, and begins to dry his hair.

He drops his head as she works, combing her fingers through his soft and damp locks, pressing the towel against them. The back of his neck is still warm from the hot waters. Annie loses herself in studying the twists and turns the golden strands take on his crown, hypnotised and nerves long forgotten, until she feels his breath warm her chest through the cloth and shudders all over. 

“Did you run?” Armin murmurs, head still down. A palm, warm and gentle, curls around the back of her knee. He just keeps it there, but it’s enough to make her fingers tremble in his hair.

“Yeah.”

He says nothing until she’s done and drops the towel to the floor, and he bends, the hand on her knee travelling lower to her calf and pulling up the ankle of her pants. 

“Your socks are wet.” Annie wonders when they became so, was it when she stepped into that puddle in the forest? In her hurry to get home, to him, she hadn’t really been very careful. They’re splashed with water and bits of moss and she hadn’t even noticed. Armin pats her calf to bring her foot up, and he rolls down the sock. His hold on her heel as he peels it off is as if she’s a god and him a devotee. Her other foot gets the same treatment before her bare feet are flat on the warm floor, between both of his own.

And then, he lifts his head and Annie’s heart jumps into her throat. Thumbs twisting in his collars, she looks into brilliant blue, clouded over with anxiety. His hair has grown longer, falling into his eyes, and she brushes it away with as much gentleness as she can conjure up within herself.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers. 

Armin doesn’t avert his gaze because he’s not like her, he’s honest and truthful when it concerns the both of them, only choosing to hide his weaknesses where she’s not involved. And this time, the worry in his eyes is very much hers as it is his. He holds her by the waist like she’s glass and a sharp intake of air through her nostrils reminds her how weak she becomes whenever he touches her there.

“Annie, what if…” He pulls a nervous breath. “What if I’m not– I don’t make you feel good?”

She’s taken by surprise – it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s heard him say and her expression must give it away because he exhales nervously. But she doesn’t understand, why would he think this way if– when he knows what he does to her? 

“Why do you say that?” She asks, cupping his cheeks. “You– everything you do makes me… feel good. I thought you knew this.”

But Armin continues to search her eyes for something she’s likely not putting into words. “Then what if… I don’t satisfy you?” His fingers around her waist flutter in the same way his irises unwillingly narrow with anxiety. For reasons she’s unable to fully decipher, he’s far more nervous than she is, but what she can see behind his eyes is that he’s asking her to help him find his way out of it. This too, is part of loving him, and she wants so much to love him with all of her.

“I doubt that,” Annie says, leaning down to slide her nose along his. “But… you should find out.” 

His eyelids fall closed when she kisses an eyebrow. She’ll love him so he can love her back the way he wants to. “I want you to find out.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, opening his eyes to stare at her lips. Has she helped at all? Maybe she’s just imagining the tension leaving his shoulders and the firmer press of his fingertips into her sides – because how can she help him when she’s so bad at words, bad at everything he’s so good at–

“Mhmm,” And that’s all she says before he cranes his neck up to kiss her and she melts into him. Armin is a liar and a cheat when he’s like this– starting out so innocently with her lips that she’s too relaxed, and rapidly taking the heat up degree by degree with every slide, pull, and suck. She follows his lead because his teeth nibbling at her ejects all thoughts from her mind, only able to snake her arms around his neck for a little support. Tongue drags against tongue and he leaves her tingling and pleading for more.

When he pulls away, her knees are weak and all he's done is kiss her. There’s a faint pink on his cheeks and his eyes are dark with desire when he thumbs the zip of her hoodie below her neck. 

"Can I?"

Annie nods and holds her breath. Armin drags the zipper down, eyes darting between her face and the opening cleaved by smooth metal until the two halves hang open. He tugs it by the hem over her shoulders and down her arms where it pools on the floor. 

And she breathes again, slow and heavy, overly conscious about herself, now bare except for her bra which will also come off soon. If she turns, there are those faint lines of reddish pink skin, remnants from a time when she was all alone, scared, and forced to build walls upon walls around her to protect herself. Remnants from a time when she was unloved and not expected to love. If she turns, he'll see them. 

But she doesn't mind because it’s him, and he's looking at her almost naked torso with a wild mixture of love, lust and need. For her. His palms are back on her waist, sliding up and down the curvature between her chest and hips and Annie bites back a moan, legs growing highly unsteady. He leans forward to press a kiss on her stomach, just above her navel, with such reverence that she feels overwhelmed with emotions and pushes him away. 

Now fingering the cold buttons of his shirt, she asks hesitantly. "Can–"

"Yes." 

Rain falls in sheets against the windowpane, but there's no sound in her ears except for the rustle of his shirt and the occasional creak of the bed frame. Her fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated and embarrassment floods her lungs; never before has plucking a button out of its hole been this difficult. He lets her try for a few minutes before he covers her hands with one of his.

"I'll help."

Of course, he's not coming undone as fast as her; he still has his composure. Beneath his hand, her own become stiller, calmer, smoother. Armin's fingers guide hers to pick the buttons out through their slots, one by one until they're all off, and with rising anticipation, she smooths them over his shoulders and he slips it off his arms. 

Armin doesn’t meet her eyes, nervous, and uncertainty tenses his limbs and spreads to the tips of his fingers indenting her sparking skin.

She's seen him before, but not for this long. She’s seen him before, but not this close. Heat pools in her belly at the sight of his collarbones, the deltoids padding his arms above biceps she’s new to, the chest line bisecting lean muscle definition down his abdomen and the abs that quiver underneath tight skin when he shifts uncomfortably under her scrutiny. She’d been sleeping to the sound of his voice while he battled with new gear to earn this body. Enraptured, she ghosts her fingertips down his pecs and the rows of muscles below, unprepared entirely for the soft brush of a trail of wispy golden hair disappearing down his pants. Armin flinches and she suppresses a gasp. He looks away, more nervous than ever and Annie doesn’t understand – how can he be this insecure with her ?

“I– I like it,” She whispers and he looks to her with surprise. Her cheeks flame hot and she’d rather he reads it from her eyes like he always does, but she’s here to love him. “I like the way you look. A lot.” 

His throat bobs with a soft exhale and he relaxes once again. How can he not know how much he affects her in the best of ways? Annie returns his gaze directly despite her burning eyes before he drops to observe the quickening rise and fall of her chest and… he’s affected by the sight if his erratic breathing is any indication. Hooded eyes find hers and bathe her with a wave of heat when he kisses her again, this time tugging her closer by the thighs and Annie sinks into his lap, a knee indenting the mattress on either side. 

"Mmm–" Annie sighs into his mouth. Armin picks out the pin keeping her hair up, and it falls loose, framing her face and he presses her close to him, palms insistent on the small of her back. She feels the sparks firing when his skin brushes hers, hot and ready to burn. She grips the nape of his neck as he kisses her with a dizzying urgency she's never felt from him before and she struggles to catch her breath. But this isn't enough, she isn't flush against him, she wants to be even closer, she needs to feel his weight dig into her–

The light goes out with a crack of lightning and a deafening rumble of thunder. 

“Candle,” He mutters, leaning to search his dresser and Annie’s fingers brush against his when she looks for the matchbox. He slides the stump of wax close, she lights the match, and as soon as the incandescent glow spreads across the room, he’s back to nibbling at her lips, nipping, teasing, driving her mad.

His fingers are between her shoulder blades, playing with the hooks of her bra. Cracking burning eyelids open, she sees a sliver of blue between his eyelashes, watching her as sensitive lips tease each other apart. It sends heat shooting straight between her legs - how long has he been watching her falling apart to his touches like this? 

But the bra isn't coming off and it becomes clear why when he breaks the kiss. A frown of confusion knits between his brows, deepening with every passing second that he continues to fumble with the hooks. Annie's head clears a little when a bubble of amusement pokes through the fog. What? He wanted to take them off? And he's struggling to do it with embarrassment sitting high and red on his cheekbones. She bites down the chuckle growing in her throat because even her affectionate teasing may blow what confidence he’s mustered so far. He fumbles a little more and she pats his arm, asking him to stop. Armin meets her eyes, looking apologetic and sheepish. 

"I'll show you," She shifts a little to the right, enough so he can peek over her shoulder at her back. "Watch."

His chin is hot on her shoulder when he leans to watch her unhook the bra. Annie does it slowly and self consciously… what if– what if he doesn’t think she’s… much? They snap open, but she fastens them back on.

"Now take it off?" She whispers into his neck, shivering when once again, his fingers thumb the elastic. 

And the hooks come undone and the straps fall down her arms. The light thud when it lands on the wooden floor punctuates a shudder when her breasts brush against his chest. There's a soft kiss pressed to the side of her head and that's where her coherence ends. 

Her back meets the mattress and an arm curls around her spine and hikes her body higher up the bed, dragging the sheets along. His body crawls between her legs and pins her down flat, arms bracketing her sides, and everything is perfect when he kisses her again. This is it, this is what she’s craved, for his weight to sink into her, to wrap her legs around his waist, to keep him close by the neck and never let him go.

His chest is tight against hers and Annie gasps into his heated mouth. Skin on skin, her hardened nipples brushing his. All her life, she’s preferred to think of herself as a rough, calloused weapon of murder, but against his skin, she feels unbearably soft and weak. Armin nudges her head to tilt back and with one last deep kiss leaving spit cooling on her lips, travels downward. 

The chill of the rain outside can’t compare with the heat in the room; here in his bed where Annie is immobile, trembling from head to toe under his caresses, it’s simmering. She struggles to keep her eyes open when his lips, bitten and swollen, drag hot pressure down the length of her neck. Fingers tug at the roots of his hair when he sucks at the base, gripping her waist. His kisses and touches are bolder, and the way his thumbs dig into her hip bone has her jerking up.

“Ar–mmh…” But she can’t, she can’t jerk up, because he’s stronger than he looks while she’s losing her own. Teeth scrape along her collarbones and she squirms, raking and pulling at his silky hair with shallow breaths. Briefly, he pauses to peck at her lips and he's back down, above the swell of her breasts and her moan hitches in her throat. 

His nose brushes her skin, sending a wave of goosebumps pricking up the fine hairs all over her body. Eyes more black than blue find hers and he holds her gaze as he ghosts a kiss just above a nipple before breathing, "You're so beautiful, you know?"

Shut up, Annie thinks, but the words die on her lips because he's teasing kisses over her breasts and running curious fingers over the embarrassingly hard tips. Her head falls back on the pillow when his tongue licks dangerously close to a nipple, releasing a whine when he takes it in his mouth. 

"Ah!" Her eyes squeeze shut and she digs her fingers into his hair because how is she supposed to last with him until the end when he's making her leak in her underwear already? She can feel it pooling with every rub of his torso against hers, with every grip and suck on her breasts, with every hum and sigh he breathes around her sensitive skin. Annie can feel his eyes on her when he swirls his tongue around before taking her hard nubs between his teeth and she cries out. 

"Good?" Armin hums, seeming to not mind the pressure of her fingers in his scalp as he shifts his attention to the other breast.

"G–good…" She barely manages. The sparks under her skin are igniting, slow, quick, she can't even tell, but she's unravelling and fast. If he keeps this up, if he doesn't move away–

He moves away, down her sternum, hot breath fanning every inch of her skin that he graces with open mouthed kisses. His blond bangs drag down her chest and undulating stomach, making her thighs clamp around his hips. Armin nips at her waist and she yelps, writhing under him, waves and waves of sparks igniting a slow burning fire between her legs where she wants, oh she wants to feel him, there – but his tongue dips into her navel and the air rushes out of her lungs in a breathless moan.

"Ar–Armin–" 

"Hmm?"

"I– ah! "

Armin presses his tongue flat above her navel and drags it upwards in one long smooth path all the way to the tip of her chin, pulling her spine into a beautiful arch, taut and quivering, and he finally kisses her again, but not for long. 

Sweat dots his forehead and he stares at her, heavy breaths leaving his lips – and how dare he look this way when she's the one who has no oxygen in her lungs – watching her with a crimson blush, with nothing, nothing but love and need in his dark eyes. And that's enough to fuel another wave of wetness to leak into her underwear. 

"What?" Annie whines. 

He says nothing, running a thumb along her parted lower lip, leaning down to graze it with a light kiss. 

"What? " This time she murmurs it against his mouth, squirming underneath, drawing him closer with her locked ankles at the base of his spine. And there it is, him, pressed against her, hard and big, and he gasps, into the corner of her lips. 

"I want you. So bad," Armin whispers with an edge to his voice she's never heard before and she shivers. Annie cups his jaws and kisses him again, light and sweet, because really, that's all she can manage to do, with his length pressing into her centre like that. 

"I want you too," She whimpers, bucking up slightly because she wants– needs to feel him more, bare, right against her, inside her– but he inhales sharply, squeezing her hips to still her movements. Annie almost draws blood from her cheeks. 

"Annie–" He closes his eyes, brows pulling together with pain. "Don't– don't do that. Not yet."

"But I–"

He shuts her up with a searing kiss and shifts his hips away to her side, leaving the space between her legs feeling lonely and empty. She moans when his fingers dance along the waistband of her loose pants and before he can ask, nods into the kiss with urgency and want. 

Armin backs away to sit up by her feet, and somehow, mustering some strength, she lifts her head to watch slender fingers work at pulling loose the knot she doesn't even remember making before she ran here. Her attention zeroes on the back of his palm where the veins dance underneath the skin with each bend of a knuckle. The knot comes undone, the elastic around her hips goes slack, and with a racing heartbeat, she raises her hips and he pulls her pants off. It falls somewhere, and she doesn't notice much else because there's only her panties between his fingers and her, and she's sure– she's certain that they're soaked, and if the uneven rise and fall of his chest is anything to go by, he can see it too. 

Knuckles trail along the elastic of her panties and, when he looks at her for any sign of hesitation and none comes, they glide down the wet fabric, feather light in touch. 

Annie's hips shoot up, thighs slamming closed together, but he takes the opportunity to hook his fingers underneath the fabric and swiftly pull them off. With a hand on each kneecap, he coaxes her legs open. 

She's mortified. She's bare, uncovered, unprotected, vulnerable, weak, open and he can see her – all of her, and she's mortified. Her hands cover her face, but stop short of her eyes, because of how he's looking at her, with his lips caught between his teeth and sweat running down his temples. The room is too hot. Way too hot, and his breathing is erratic – he really does want her. 

"Stop staring– oh…" He's back at her side, peppering her mouth, her cheek, her ears and her jaws with kisses while digging an arm between her back and the bed to grip at her waist from underneath. Annie circles her arms around his shoulders, kissing him back fervently until he lets go of her lips with a rough sigh. Armin brushes his nose with hers before muttering, "You're beyond beautiful."

"Ah…" A hand splays on her stomach, gliding downward. Annie's words die before they even form and she can do nothing but look into his equally hazy eyes, lips too sensitive to kiss him. The heel of his palm digs into her pubic bone and his fingers are there, right there, between wet folds. 

"Oh–oh fu…" He's studying her every reaction and electricity shoots down her body when he rubs past her clit. Gentle flicks become circles, tentative and slow and then faster and she buries her face into the crook of his neck, filling her lungs with the salty tang of his sweaty skin. “A–Armin…”

“One finger, okay?” Armin murmurs into her hair and he’s sliding further down until he stops to groan. “Annie, you’re so wet.” She whimpers against his pulse, she can feel herself oozing and his finger is right where desire seeps out. 

“Two,” She pleads, because he’s torturing her with his slow pace and it feels like she’s the only one on the verge of falling to pieces until… until she notices how fast his pulse ticks in his neck. A palm above his heart confirms it, it’s racing as fast as hers. Is he nervous? Is he scared? She pulls away from his shoulder to look and finds his eyes. There, somewhere within wide pupils, is some fear; and here she’s been thinking he knows exactly how to do everything.

“Is that okay?”

“Two. I can– I can take it,” She urges, placing a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. She’s not sure about that; she can only fit one herself, but Armin relents, adding another finger and sinking them in. Annie arches into him with a cry, digging her nails into the dips in his shoulders, because fuck, his fingers are long, he’s stretching her open and deeper than she’s ever been able to reach. The rapid dampness of sweat covers her skin and he presses his lips to her cheekbone, keeping it there. 

And he begins to work her open for him.

They slide in and out and curl into her walls and Armin rips moan after moan from her throat. She’s quaking around his knuckles and his warm breath washes her cheeks with every pull and push. Only with his fingers inside does she realise how–

“Tight,” Armin groans, eyes closed and brows slanted in the pleasure of what she can only guess is the sensation of her heat around him. “You’re melting my fingers off…”

If he’d shut up, Annie wishes, because his voice is so low, so rough yet so smooth, it’s only making her want to squeeze around his fingers. Her head collapses on the pillow weakly and she settles for praying to his eyes.

Blue. The sharp ring of blue around pupils drunk with pleasuring her is all she can see and it invades her foggy line of vision. It tethers her to the ground if only by a flimsy thread so she doesn’t float away and succumb to his strokes splintering her open. Her staccato inhales pull from his exhales and she’s dizzy, she’s losing her thoughts, she’s going to fade– 

“S–stop, stop…”

He stops, withdrawing dripping fingers and resting it above her slit, and as expected, concern flits over his features. “Did I hurt–”

“No, no,” Annie pants, blinking away the haze in front of her eyes. “I want you. ”

Armin bites his lip, frowning in want or confusion, she can’t tell. “Oh… Uh, I… wanted to kiss you down there. A–and…” He trails off, suddenly embarrassed, after all this, as if he didn’t just have his fingers knuckle-deep inside her, melting her like ice under the hot sun.

Incredulity paints a thin coat over her state of high. Is he insane? He wants to go down on her, now, when she’s already dying to have him inside? She can’t believe him and it must show on her face because he colours several shades of red in mortification.

“Sor–”

“I won’t l–last,” She blurts, dying inside at her admission. “And I want to– with– when you, I mean…”

He nods slowly, relieved that he hasn’t turned her off. “Next time, then…?”

“Mhmm,” And she tugs him down by the neck for another kiss which he gives her with all of his pent-up frustration, sucking at her lips, her tongue, licking into the roof of her mouth, and leaving her a panting mess when he pulls away. 

Annie should’ve been long angry about this, that his pants are still on, that he’s not been as naked as her, for as long as she has, that she still hasn’t seen his cock that he’s been keeping away from her body so carefully, but all she can do is raise herself on her elbows to watch when he shuffles to settle between her knees, thumb hooked behind his waistband. The rush of blood drums between her ears when the same fingers that teased her close to heaven, unbutton his pants. Without meaning to, her thighs rub together.

He doesn’t miss that. Armin glances at her through sweaty locks of hair clinging to his forehead and her breathing stutters. He looks so good, so damn good, with a deep flush staining down his face and his neck, rivulets of sweat beginning to run down his body, a finger still slightly wet with her slick pulling down the zipper. Annie bites the insides of her cheeks when the pants pool around his bent knees to reveal the straining bulge in his boxers, he’s… he’s big and so full of need.

But he hesitates now, once more uncertain with himself and insecurity clouds his face when he avoids her stare. Annie sighs. What is she here for, if she doesn’t help him make love to her? Shoving her self-consciousness aside, Annie extends her legs, settling her feet on either side of his hips and curls her toes into the elastic of his boxers, tugging them down.

“I want you,” She calls softly. “All of you.”

Again, she’s left wondering how much of her poorly strung words help him, but his eyes are back on hers, and he’s sliding his boxers down with renewed confidence. Annie fists her hands into the sheets to prevent from rubbing her thighs together this time, because he’s… stunning. Incredible. Her throat works down a gulp because she hadn't expected… is he like this because of her? Did she really make him this way? Her thoughts come to a screeching halt and her stomach flutters with a mix of anticipation and excitement because he kicks the last bits of clothing off, watching her with a seductive glimmer in his eyes – her face has betrayed her aching need to have him inside. He grips her ankles, pulling her legs around his hips and crawls over her.

Once again flat on her back and this time with the fire spreading from her belly to her limbs, Annie curves into his kisses, tender, soft, teasing, before mumbling, "Can I touch you?" His cock is a hair's width away from her soaking cunt, and if she squirms just the slightest bit, it'll be right between her leaking folds. 

Armin gives her an embarrassed smile. "I really want you to… but I won't last either. Next time." And he's planting kisses on her again, down her jawline, down her neck, down the column of her throat; sweet and loving. It’s the calm before the storm and Annie can feel the swoop of nerves making her tingle all over.  

"Nervous?" He murmurs when she tenses up under him. 

"No," She exhales shakily. She isn't, she really isn't, even though he's a little bigger than she expected and a bubble of fear is ricocheting in her chest, but if she admits it–

"Yeah. I'm nervous too." He places a kiss above her heart and comes back up to eye level, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

Caught, and Annie frowns to disguise it. Why does she even bother lying to him anymore? But there’s no mockery in his tone, only sincere adoration, so she slides her palm to fit his cheek and he leans into her touch, kissing the inside of her wrist.

“But you know I love you too.” He says quietly, seriously, and her nerves die down. 

She really shouldn't be getting moist eyes now, of all times. But he's here with her, alive, in one piece, still the same boy he once was, not altogether destroyed, and she's overwhelmed with how miraculous it all is. 

She wants to be just a girl, with him. 

"Go slow," Annie tells him so softly he has to read her lips and he nods, tensing up above her. 

"Yeah."

The rain lashes at the windows, and it's a wonder really, that the glass hasn't broken already. She's hyper aware of every little thing now and it's making her antsy. Armin shifts, reaching a hand down to guide himself into her; the tip of his cock, hot and throbbing, brushes against her clit and she loses her breath at just that one sensation. He drags it further down, where she’s open and wet and waiting, hissing when she does because it feels so good. And then, before she can even blink, the bubble of fear rears its ugly head again. 

"Wait!" She yelps and he stills. "Go just… straight in. Quick."

Armin blinks at her, concerned eyes searching hers. "Annie, that might hurt." 

He's right but she doesn't know what else to do, it is going to hurt, just two of his fingers were stretching her out already, and this– this is… 

Wait. Since when was she scared of pain? 

He’s waiting, confused, anxious and desperate, waiting for her to tell him what she wants. 

Since him. 

"Okay," He breathes, the apprehension on her face is enough of an answer for him. "Okay." 

He finds a way. He pushes into her with a hiss and keeps going, splitting her open slowly but without pause, and stops only when he's buried to the hilt and no space exists between them.

Everything is still, until her lungs burn from holding her breath for too long and she gasps into the dim room. 

Annie thought she would be desensitized to pain by now, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. It hurts, oh it hurts , but in such a delicious way, it has her gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. She's vaguely aware that her blunt nails are digging too deep into his shoulders but can't bring herself to relax her grip. It's a searing pain and a ridiculous fullness, coming together in a wild mix of sensations that radiate from where he's joined with her, to all her limbs, to the tips of her fingers and toes. She can feel nothing but the way he's throbbing and pulsing inside her, how his hard tip is brushing up against a barrier she had never even explored fully. It's all too much and she feels her insides constrict. 

"Ah… fuck."

Uncharacteristic swearing draws her attention, finally, to Armin; on top of her, his spine too rigid, arms faintly trembling on either side of her shoulders, face buried in the crook of her neck, hair tickling her chin, heated breaths from his open mouth blowing over her collarbones. She releases her vice grip from his shoulders and cups his jaws, hidden from her sight. The skin of her palms picks up the clench of his jaws and the silent gasp that escapes his open lips. 

"Are... you okay?" He mumbles into her neck, voice tight and strained.

"Getting there..." She rasps, wincing when he twitches inside her. 

He lifts his head, hazy blue eyes finding hers in a silent apology. 

"Sorry, I... should've-"

"No, it's okay," Her voice quivers, he's stretching her out so much and it burns. Her thumb strokes his cheeks and she sweeps her eyes over his face. Armin is struggling above her, inside her, and breathing irregularly. She drops her gaze to his parted lips, focusing on the harsh pants escaping them, lining her breathing to match his. He catches on and follows her instead, and in a few seconds, they fall into rhythm. 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The rise of her chest is in tandem with his. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Unused muscles relax, giving, opening, inviting, and the pain throbs in her dully, ebbing away as the seconds tick by, something else taking its place, making it harder and harder to want to keep still. He watches her every reaction with rapturous attention and when she mouths ‘move’ and bucks her hips slightly, Armin flinches, looking pained and grunts, "Yeah."

He rocks into her, slowly, jaws tight and teeth gritted. Annie sucks in a sharp breath, biting her tongue and clawing at his biceps when pain morphs into discomfort and discomfort morphs into the beginnings of ecstasy. Hips rubbing into hers, his scent taking over her senses, it’s all too much, and he’s too gentle, too slow, and the atmosphere hits boiling point.

“I’m… I’m okay,” She whimpers and that’s his cue to pull away, straightening his spine and taking hold of her knees. Armin picks up his speed, thrusting faster, deeper, filling her up in ways she’s never been filled before, and she’s burning, but this time with pleasure, and he’s out of her reach, so she pulls at the sheets, at the pillow, at anything, yanking them out of place. His grip on her knees is firm and she can’t move her legs, she can’t force him back down over her again, and he’s so thick, so hard, so fucking good–

“Shit, shit, shit,” He curses, ragged breaths spilling from his lips, keeping his eyes locked on her body writhing and stretching before him and she can’t help her moan. “Fuck, Annie, you feel so good, so tight, I–!”

“A–Armin…” He sounds rough, voice laced with raw need, and his swearing flutters her insides and she cries out, mewling broken pleas. He lurches forward, fingers digging into her knees and keeps diving into her, maintaining his pace. She’s on fire and soon he’ll burn her deep inside and she searches desperately for something to hold on to so she can stay grounded for a little longer, just a little longer –

Blue. She can’t see it anymore, his hair, wet with sweat, falls over his eyes with every plunge he takes and she needs to see, she needs to see it, she’ll combust if she doesn’t.

“Armin– I–” She extends a weak arm and he tilts his head questioningly, pausing his movements.

“What…” He’s breathless.

"Can't see... your eyes," She whines, hating, hating how shrill she sounds. 

"Wha…?"

"Your eyes… "

"Oh..." He gets it and lets go of one of her knees to brush his hair back. Fuck, she covers her face, blushing, if that’s even possible anymore, because golden hair threads between his fingers and the lean muscles in his arms and shoulders flex fluidly underneath glistening skin.  

“Good...?” He pants, hair now slicked back from his forehead, also damp with sweat. His eyes are bright against his flushed face and she squirms, nodding.

“Mhm– oh– fuck!”

He starts again without warning, hips snapping into her and she’s tangling into the sheets helplessly, fire spreading over her skin all over again, threatening to tip her over the edge, but she’s tethered by the ring of dark blue around pupils blown up, grateful that he keeps his eyes on hers,  thankful that he keeps her down, down or else she’ll soar too high, too fast, without him by her side.

Beads of sweat drip off the tips of his nose and chin and fall on her chest, running down the sides of her undulating chest and stomach, deliciously cooling against the boiling surface of her skin. The sensation is feather-light in contrast with the pressure he starts building inside her with every inch of his girth and suddenly, it’s not enough. It’s not enough, he’s once again too gentle, too slow, despite keeping his speed, it’s not enough and she needs more, more of him, inside, outside, everywhere. 

“G–go har–harder…!” Annie sputters, and he slows down, almost stilling completely, thinking he’s misheard. 

“A–are you sure…?” It’s as much of a struggle for him to speak and she’s glad for it, rolling her hips impatiently and making him wince.

“Please.”

That does something. Her airy whine does something to him, and he gulps. Armin drags his fingers down to the back of her thighs, picks them up, hoists them higher around his waist and starts pounding away. 

Annie keens, loud and clear, the air knocked out of her lungs and he hisses in ecstasy. He’s pistoning into her, hitting deeper, plunging into her and she can’t find her voice anymore, she needs to hold on to his eyes, but he’s driving into her so hard, so fast, his hair is all back over his eyes and she’s lost the blue again, she needs– fuck, she needs– her fingernails scratch at his arms and he gets it, he understands, even though she can’t speak. Armin leans down again, closer where Annie can press her nose against his, and she combs his hair back up his forehead so she can beg for the neptune-blue to keep her grounded just a little longer.

Annie never thought her body was capable of feeling anything except pain. Built for grapples, kicks, punches, grabs, throws - and pain. But here he is, driving pleasure through her core with each ram of his cock deep inside her soaked sex, his soft lips grazing her skin whenever and wherever he thinks it fit. She can barely think anymore, the friction of his veiny surface brushing deep inside her very core, she can't do anything, she doesn't even find the strength to grip his shoulders, so she does the only two things she can - she squeezes him inside her and tilts her neck back into the pillow in pleasure. 

“Oh fuck!” His reaction is immediate, throwing his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing in a strangled groan, fingers digging hard into the flesh of her thighs with enough pressure to bruise.

She’s close and he presses his forehead with hers, eyes boring into hers, his sweat dripping over her body, mouths open, breaths mingling in the sparse gap between their lips. She cradles his jaws, holding him in place. He’s lost, he’s lost somewhere so deep in her and she thinks he’s never looked more incredible than right here, with her, fucking her into the bed with love.

“C–close?” He asks, voice terribly hoarse.

“Y–yes–!” 

He pauses to kiss her, clumsy and breathless before slamming in, his pubic bone rutting into her clit and the thin wire tethering her unravels rapidly. Again, again, the fire is all around her, around him, and she can’t keep her eyes open anymore, but his damp forehead is still on hers, and he slaps into her clit, again, again. 

“Let go,” He grunts, and she falls into the blue, shattering around him, squeezing him to heaven and back, and blue is all she can see, she's covered in it, bathed in it, she's deep into the blue. The room goes up in flames and her voice breaks with his name on it. He shudders with a hoarse cry before pulling out and spilling all over her shaking thigh.

She's shaking. He's trembling. They stay like that, limbs tangled and stuck between sheets, trying to catch their breaths, floating back down from their high, second by second, minute by minute. She kisses his forehead and his nose and his eyes and he rewards her with a dazed smile.

She's just a girl, with him. 

Giddy, lightheaded, and overtaken with newfound emotions now that her head is clearing up once again, the tears prick at her eyes and she wraps her arms around his neck to kiss him and hug him close, but he pets her hips, asking her to ease up.

"Mmm–wait, wait, Annie," He murmurs between her kisses. "I have to clean you off. Wait–"

Reluctantly, she lets him extricate himself, watching him pick up one of his clothes, pull out her thigh and wipe her clean. Her body feels like water, unable to move even an inch, and the more he's away from her, the more lonely she feels. He doesn't take too long, stepping off the bed on unsteady feet to chuck his clothes into the bathroom and he's back again, beside her, holding her close for the hug she wanted so badly. 

"You took my breath away," Armin states in disbelief, eyes glassy and still panting softly, when he tucks some wayward strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Stop talking," Annie complains with a dry throat, hugging him tight. They’re drenched in the smell of sweat and sex but she doesn’t care the slightest bit, and neither does he. Her toes flutter against his feet and he pulls her close, not leaving a centimetre of gap between them. This is it. This is how she wants to be.

He hums, landing kiss after kiss on her shoulder and she can feel the vibration of his voice in his throat. "I'm being honest. Do you trust me?"

"Mhmm."

"I'm glad."

They fall into drowsy silence, limp and blissed out, listening to the distant sounds of thunder growling in the sky and rain pattering on the window. He draws patterns between her shoulder blades, fingers growing slower and lazier as the candle flame grows smaller. 

"How did you know I was here?" Armin asks quietly.

"I saw you leaving." She sighs into his neck.

"Oh?"

She pulls away to look at him and he smiles. "Why did you leave so early though?"

His eyes wander over her face, and the smile slowly spreads into a lazy grin. "I was… a little bothered."

She frowns inquiringly. "Bothered? By what? By who?"

He's quiet for a few seconds before starting to laugh, leaving her more puzzled. "What's so funny?"

"I thought I had something stolen from me," He chuckles. "But I still have it."

"What was stolen?"

Armin laughs again, brilliantly happy, nudging forward to kiss her deeply. "This," He whispers into her mouth. "This space. What we just did. You. All of it."

She's so confused. "But I'm right here…?"

He nods sleepily. "You're right here. I won't give that up."

Her heart skips a beat. Nothing he's saying makes any sense but she does understand the last bit. She wouldn't give him up for anything in the world either.

In fact, Annie hadn't given up on him since the very beginning. 

She'd been given the scars as a warning. A symbol of marked death – no way would she be able to love anyone within that short time. She'd been given the scars as a reminder to not love anyone or anything except her gruesome purpose. 

She'd betrayed them all. Even with those scars marring her back, she'd fallen in love. 

"I love you too, Annie," He mumbles through a tender smile, eyelids closing heavily. "You'll never really know how much." 

Annie watches him fall asleep, exhausted from loving her, and when his breathing slows and evens out, she runs a fingertip over his eyelashes. 

What is Annie's love? How deep does it run? She doesn't know all the answers yet, but one thing is clear. It's boundless, like time. 

The candle goes out and so does she, drifting off into tired sleep in his arms.

Outside, it drizzles, mild and soft.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, things don't go as planned. 

"... And if you'll see here, we have our major ports where we conduct our exports and imports. You may know that…"

“Mhmm.” 

It’s why he’s sitting here, in the Chancellor’s office, losing focus every five seconds when he really should be paying more attention to the map in front of him.

“... Our dairy exports have been stable over the past five years, however, it is likely to suffer a severe blow now because of the rumbling…”

“Yes, of course.”

Everything you do makes me… feel good. I thought you knew this. Well… he can’t say he never knew. Annie wasn’t very vocal, but she did express her likes and dislikes very clearly with her body language. Atleast, with him. So why did her reassurance affect him so much last night? Did he never believe her after all? No… no, that’s not it. No, this is… an ugly singularity deep inside himself, one that swallows every ounce of love he’s given. 

“... imports too, now that Marley is no more…”

I want you to find out. Annie was… not like him. She didn’t hesitate to take the plunge, unlike him, who always needed to think of a million parameters before speaking or taking action. It was hardwired in him at this point, but had he always been this way? Hadn’t he too, once, run with the wind to see where it would take him? Calculations, predictions, gambles – this is his norm now but hadn’t he too, once, just lived ? 

“... Helga, get me the northern map…”

He can’t continue to be this way, he knows this much. This singularity creates enough damage inside him as it is, he shouldn’t be bringing it into their relationship. The second he does, he would be inviting a dangerous virus that most definitely will eat its way through him, his bond with Annie, and then Annie herself. He has a responsibility to take care of her and keep her happy, after all she’s been through.

“... indigenous… rich culture…”

I like the way you look. A lot. It's the third time Annie’s told him this. The third time he’d shied away from her to shrink into his bubble of anxiety instead of bravely loving her. How long would he be this way? Did it really matter anymore, whether he compares to the other guys or not? Annie loves him, isn’t that enough? 

No. No, that isn't the way to go about this. He can’t always rely on Annie to make him feel good about himself. 

And he thought he’d have to work her open for him, when really, she’d worked him open instead. 

G–good… Pale skin flushing pink. An expanse of smooth skin that responded to his every touch and kiss. She had fit so neatly between his palms and melted in his hold. He’ll never forget it, the way she rose off the bed under his tongue up her torso. The way she’d sighed and breathed into his ear. The way she’d toyed with his hair, telling him to do, to continue, to never stop, the way she couldn’t tell him in words. 

Two. I can– I can take it. The way she’d seen through his facade of confidence, and told him she’s not glass, to be held with hands of tissue and caressed with air. The way she’d pressed hot fingertips into the nape of his neck as she drank his gaze in, with every stroke and curl of his fingers inside her where she was unbelievably small and eager to welcome him and his guilt-ridden soul only too big from the ever-expanding balloon of anxieties. 

I want you. And I want to– with– when you, I mean… The way she didn’t want to be alone, the way she wanted him to feel it with her, the way she wanted him to invade the one last space that was entirely only hers seconds prior, the way she wanted to spend every next second of ecstasy with him, together, in one whole piece. 

All of you. The way she’d rubbed her thighs, looking at him with need, too impatient to even consider using her hands to pull his clothes down. The way she’d opened up fully and embraced all of him, with all of her. 

I’m… I’m okay… The way her head had fallen back on the pillow and she’d cried out in euphoric pleasure, words of encouragement, moans that crumbled on her tongue, broken sighs when she couldn’t catch her breath. The way she’d fisted the sheets, the way her neck stretched, long and graceful; the way she’d–

Your eyes… The way she’d begged he keep his eyes on her, to watch her, to find pleasure in her, how she moved, how she didn’t ; how she didn’t know that really, she was the one keeping him in place, with her eyes, her cries, her hot skin, her love–

“...er…?”

G–go har–harder… Please. How she pulled him close, how she’d wrapped herself around him, warm, tight, so deep, her bitten lips kissing him and then singing his name one heady syllable at a time, flooding him with heat, and his name had never sounded so beautiful before this but–

“... Commander? Are you alright?”

Hazel green eyes swim before his vision and Armin snaps out of his daze.

“Oh dear, you’re not looking good,” The Chancellor looks concerned. “Your face is awfully red. Perhaps you’re running a fever?”

Armin drops his face into his hands, embarrassed beyond belief. Feverish he feels, yes, but a different kind of fever entirely. “Sorry,” He clears his throat. “I didn’t uh.. Get much sleep last night.”

“The storm was heavy,” The Chancellor nods. “But shall I call you a doctor? You’re still flushing.”

“Oh no, no,” Armin chuckles uncomfortably, waving the concern away. “I’m quite alright. But thank you."

“In any case, let's continue tomorrow,” The Chancellor glances at the clock showing a quarter to twelve noon. “I have to rush home for a bit and then look after some routine matters.” He looks at the other two ministers in the room. “We’re done for today.”

The twinge of guilt Armin feels at his shoddy efforts and wandering mind is only soothed by the Chancellor’s reassuring smile that has no derision or contempt for him. He stands, watching him put on his coat and smooth down the lapels of his shirt as the ministers gather their documents and exit the office, leaving him alone with the head of the country.

"You know," Chancellor Heikkinen says eventually, patting down his pockets for his pen. "If you'll let me cross the lines a little bit… you remind me a lot of someone." 

"Oh?" Armin shrugs on his own coat, adjusting his collars. 

"Yes," He chuckles, loosening his tie. "The look in your eyes. A burning desire to learn and understand the world. The same ideals." He graces Armin with a soft look, one brimming with emotions he's not sure he understands. "I think you'd make very good friends."

There's a depression brewing in his guts and he doesn't want to ask, to pry, but he does it anyway, "Who…?"

The Chancellor smiles, and it is warm and sincere, but belongs to a time of old. "My son."

His son. Before Armin can ask anything else, he claps him on the shoulders firmly. "Go get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then he opens the door for the both of them.

"Ah, by the way," He turns around just before exiting. "I've got your clearance. For Paradis. You can start on it." With a nod, he puts on his hat and leaves. 

Armin descends the steps of the Chancellor's office feeling very strange. The mid morning sun directly above heats the top of his head and he squints at it. The days are getting warmer with summer right around the corner. For all he knows, today might be the last day of spring that his coat sees the light of day until fall arrives.  

But not the heat of the sun, nor the kindness of the Chancellor can compare with the warmth he was bathed in last night in Annie’s arms. 

He has to suppress a delirious smile as he begins the uphill climb back to their house, hungry and embarrassed with his unproductive morning. If he’d known what he’d be thinking about, he would have just stayed in bed – irresponsible as it may have been – and watched Annie sleep. Precious time he could’ve spent with her in their house that was still empty when he left.

But sometimes, things don't go as planned. 

He had woken up to bliss. The tinkle of residual raindrops whispered in his ear, and pillars of morning light caressed his face. His chest felt light when he saw Annie fast asleep next to him, face buried in the pillow, hair fanning around in waves untamed. The sheets had slipped off her shoulders, her back was bare upto the dip in her spine, and her pale skin was tinged gold in the sunshine. The fact that she was still with him in this state meant she’d overslept and missed her usual morning walk. Her legs were tangled between his. Both of them still naked. Both of them after having crossed a line they'd been wanting to for weeks. Heaven. He wanted to drink in this moment, this sight, one sip at a time, and relish it carefully and sweetly. 

But the clock on the dresser cruelly informed him that it was half past nine in the morning, and he had a meeting with the chancellor at ten. 

The panic shredded into the bliss, and he peeled himself away from Annie with much regret to leap into the bathroom and brush his teeth, shower, and shave in the span of fifteen minutes. Annie was still asleep when he came out to get dressed, only stirring towards the end when he was tucking his shirt into his pants, squinting at him with bleary eyes. 

"Morning," He’d whispered, sinking a knee into the bed to kiss her. "It's almost ten. I have a meeting with the Chancellor so I have to go."

"Mmm," Is all she’d said when she kissed him back sluggishly, sleep still heavy on her eyelids. "Go."

"I'm sorry," He sighed, brushing her hair away from her face. "I'd skip it if I could and stay with you here instead." 

"Go," She mumbled again, patting his cheek softly, and her fingers were so gentle on his skin that he wanted to throw all of his clothes off and spend the whole day with her in bed. 

"I'm sorry," He planted a kiss on the hinge of her jaw. "Have breakfast okay?" 

"And you?" She called groggily as he opened the door. 

"No time for that, too late." He smiled, heart soaring at the picture of her sprawled on his bed, skin kissed in the morning light, sheets twisted around her, and the sleepy smile she gave him before yawning and turning over. "See you in a bit." 

And he’d raced out of the house, still in the dark about why it was so empty at ten in the morning with no sign of the others. Just what did they do at the hot springs inn? But he didn’t dwell on it for too long, hurriedly pulling on his shoes and running to his meeting, coat flung over his arms and cursing at his bad luck. 

Now, his shoes scrape the still-wet cobblestone slowly, far too slowly, bogged down by the many thoughts squabbling for attention in his head. Thoughts that make him blush, thoughts that make him wince, thoughts that worry him. At the very top of that list is how he should've been more careful. 

He should've been more careful with Annie. 

It was just sheer luck after all, that he'd been able to pull out right before… but what if he hadn't? If he hadn't, then… she could've become pregnant. That would frighten her. She wouldn't be ready for it and then she'd try to hide it from him because… because that's how Annie was, always fighting her battles alone. It would be something he could only do someday in the future with her fingers tight between his, when she wanted it with all her mind, body and soul. 

And him? 

He can’t deny that it would frighten him too. But there’s also this – does he have any right to bring new life to this world he'd helped destroy? Does he have any right to hold new life in his blood stained hands? 

Not that he doesn’t want it to happen someday, despite it all. But right now… he has so much to do. He has a world to rebuild. 

He should've been more careful with Annie. 

"Morning!" Someone greets him and he returns it absentmindedly along with a distracted smile. 

And then there’s all these people to think about. Two hundred and odd lives carrying several generation's worth of trauma on their backs, that he's now responsible for. He hadn't gone back to the cottages to check on them after that and it adds to his guilt. Were they crossing the bridge without him and the others? Were they settling in properly? Fear is a frightening thing. It cripples a soul from the inside out, a fact Armin knows all too well about. 

And then there’s everything he has to do, for Paradis, for Kald, for the broken world – where does Annie fit in this? She’s not interested in the politics of it all, and he doesn’t blame her; she deserves the quiet, peaceful life she’s always wanted. So it's up to him to balance his responsibilities now. Daily meetings with the Chancellor drain away his mornings and most of his afternoons leaving him nothing but evenings to spend with her, and he can’t guarantee he’ll have those evenings forever. And it's only going to get worse in the coming months. 

He wants to be with her, only her, making her laugh and laughing with her, soaking in this new lease of life together and yet… he has a duty to pick up the pieces Eren had shattered, first, before he can expect anyone else to help. 

He had promised them long lives and old age, after all. 

But, he covers his mouth with one hand, the other deep in his pocket. But, in Annie's arms, nothing ever mattered. None of it mattered. He's just human with no burdens, no responsibilities, and no guilt. In Annie's arms, he's something wonderful, something she wants, something she needs, something she loves. 

Someone she loves. 

He can almost touch the red blooming over his cheeks and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Annie's scent… her hair so soft on his skin… her voice in his ear… 

"... –lert!"

Her strength… her skin… her lips…

"Commander Arlert!"

He turns, broken from his reverie, and his face splits into a broad smile. "Felipe! Where have you been!"

Felipe grins, jogging up the street to close the distance, another man close at his heels. He looks better than he did at Fort Salta and Armin is glad for it. At least one person was able to return to their home, where both them and home remained intact. 

"It's good to see you," Felipe beams, adjusting his glasses. "How have you been?"

"I'm alright," Armin nods at him and the other guy. "You? How come I haven't seen you at all lately?"

"Ah, that," Felipe chuckles, gesturing for the three of them to continue onward. "Work has been tight at my family business. I've been busy helping out."

"The shoemakers?"

"Yes," He laughs. "Lots of orders for new shoes. Most, if not all, are from the refugees." 

Armin looks at him with surprise. "The refugees…?"

Felipe nods. "Yes. Apparently the first thing they're buying are shoes. I've seen the state of the ones they've been wearing all this time," He clicks his tongue. "And let me tell you, nobody should be wearing shoes that worn out."

Armin looks ahead, still very surprised by this piece of news. "Uh… well, yes, they weren't afforded a lot of liberty in Liberio, even basic necessities must’ve been difficult to obtain."

"At least they can have proper shoes before next winter." 

Armin gazes at the noisy stores lining the street. So they are fine. They are crossing the bridge and buying necessities. They are doing just fine. That's good. The weight of one stone of several lifts off his chest and he feels the sting of tears of relief prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Inhaling deeply, he turns to Felipe. "Thank you."

"Of course." He replies softly. "But it's nothing compared to what you did for them. I heard about the line you drew. I…" He looks at his feet, remorse curling his mouth downwards. "I was part of the Marleyan Military too. And I saw what was being done to the Eldians there and never said anything. I was a participant in the suffering inflicted on them."

Turning away, Armin lets his eyes wander over the stones paving the street. There's nothing he can say to that. They had all collectively been part of this tragedy in some way or the other. Blood was blood, and they had all spilt the blood of others. 

"Still, thank you," He says. "It's a long road to a future of understanding and… every small step counts. That's what I think."

"You're right," Felipe nods solemnly. "Every step counts."

"C'mon you two! Don't be getting so down this early in the day," The other man, silent thus far, chirps in an attempt to lighten the mood. Thumping Felipe on the back, he continues, "What matters is that we're all still alive."

Armin raises his eyebrows at him with a smile. "You're right."

Felipe looks embarrassed. "Ah, I didn't even introduce you two! How impudent of me. Commander, this is Kári, he's my childhood friend, we were almost born together." Sporting a head of thick, messy black hair and light brown eyes, Kári grins. 

"And Kári, this is Commander Armin Arlert, of the Survey Corps from Paradis who stopped the Rumbling and saved us all." Felipe looks excessively proud, and Armin has to keep his grimace hidden inside himself. 

Armin extends his hand to Kári who takes it in both of his and gives a firm shake. "It's nice to meet you." 

"I'm so honoured." Kári says. "I saw you all several times in the market, but had no idea Felipe was this close to you until a few days ago."

"Ah, yes," Armin smiles with a nod. "He was an invaluable asset on Fort Salta." 

Felipe scratches his head shyly. "Not really, I uh–"

"You did a lot for us. Thank you," He pats his back. "And for bringing us here." 

"Oh, well," Felipe chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway, how are the others doing?"

"We're doing alright," Armin's stomach growls silently in hunger. He really wants to go home fast and see Annie. "You should come by sometime. Have a meal with us."

Felipe beams. "Will do. And–" Armin doesn't miss the way Kári nudges him by the elbows with a sidelong glance. "Uh, how is… Miss Leonhardt?"

Annie, specifically? Armin catches a glimpse of Kári’s eager face and it takes him half a second before it all clicks into place. 

Goddamnit. 

"Annie is fine," He says, keeping his voice light. Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices Felipe frowning and Kári hiding a smile. 

"Uh, does she… does she have anything she likes to do in the evenings?" 

"Hmm. No, she stays at home," He replies, maintaining a neutral face. "Catching up on lost sleep and all that."

"Ah yes, of course, of course," Kári looks dejected and Armin has to turn to his other side, and blow air through his cheeks in irritation. He'd expected this, but not so soon. 

He really has his work cut out for him.

"But uh, Commander," This time it's Kári who speaks. "Do you know if– if Miss Leonhardt is uh… seeing anyone?"

Armin eyes him warily. Slightly taller. Conventionally attractive. Seems like the insistent type. Kári looks at him, eager, expectant, ready to receive the good news that no, Annie isn’t seeing anyone.

But she is with someone. 

"She's–"

The crashing of several heavy boxes to the ground rips their attention away and to up the street, where, in front of a store, a frail man with a mop of white hair struggles to pick up cardboard cartons off the ground. The three of them rush forward to help, and the man staggers back, sitting heavily on a bench and panting. 

"Grandpa! Why were you doing this by yourself?!" Kári yelps, running after the strewn items beginning to roll down the slope. "You said the new supplies would arrive tomorrow!"

"They delivered it early," The man replies apologetically, adjusting the pince-nez on his nose. In between stacking the boxes against the outer walls, Armin takes a step backward to read the signboard above the shop. Oliver's Stamps. Ah, so this is where Annie had come to get his seal made. "And I didn't want to bother you for no reason."

"You'll just hurt yourself," Kári huffs, pouring the contents of the boxes back inside them. "Let go of your pride will you? When you're old, you need to ask for help." 

"Oh, I can still manage just fine," The man says dismissively before nodding at Felipe who’s dusting his hands. "Good to see you, my boy. How are your parents?" 

"They're well," He replies cheerfully. "Busy with lots of new orders."

"Oh? That's good, that's good." He then notices Armin and looks at him curiously. "And this is…?"

"Ah, this is Commander Armin Arlert," Felipe gestures enthusiastically. "From Paradis." Armin bows his head slightly. "Commander, this is Oliver. He's the stamp maker here, and also Kári’s grandfather."

The man's eyes light up and his smile grows wider. "Arlert… you say?"

"Yes," Armin nods. 

"Is that spelled A-R-L-E-R-T?" 

He blinks, slightly puzzled, never having received such a question before. He didn't think he had a difficult name to spell but maybe it’s unfamiliar to the people of Kald. "Yes, that's right."

Oliver's smile transforms into a beam. "It's nice to finally meet you, my boy."

Finally? He frowns in confusion before it dawns on him. "Ah, of course! Annie probably gave you my name… thank you very much for the se–" He glances at the signboard. "I mean, the stamp."

"Oh, the stamp," Oliver laughs, a twinkle in his eye. “You’re welcome, certainly.”

"Miss Leonhardt was here?" Kári looks astonished before his face brightens with an elated smile. "Why? Will she come again?"

Any irritation once again rising within Armin subsides when Oliver beckons him close with a knowing look, and  asks, "Did you like it?" 

“Yes, it was very well done, thank you."

"Did it make you happy ?" Oliver whispers surreptitiously. 

A very strange question, Armin thinks, but doesn't dwell on it. "It did," He replies, thinking of the blue and white symbol of freedom he had spent so many years idolising. "Very happy." 

Oliver's eyes sparkle and he grins wide, clapping Armin on the shoulders. "I'm glad. Congratulations, my boy!” 

Now thoroughly puzzled, he darts his eyes to Felipe and Kári who look equally bewildered. He raises his eyebrows at them and they shrug back, seeming to be as lost as he is. 

"The young lady was as happy as you," Oliver says. "When she held the stamp in her hands, you should've seen her face. I don't think she realised how she was smiling."

Armin cocks his head, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes. I could tell it meant a lot to her."

Huh. Armin gazes at the sky, a warmth blooming in his heart. He had no idea the Wings of Freedom meant so much to Annie. 

At lunch, Armin pours over the newspaper, sweeping his eyes over the bold headlines filling up the front pages. One month since the Rumbling and speculation still continues regarding their whereabouts. A good thing, considering they'd need to collect their thoughts for when they would finally go public. 

"Kald hasn't released any information yet," He says, spooning himself a mouthful of porridge and flipping a sheet to read the next page. "So we're still safe for the time being. But it'll only be a matter of time…" He trails off, concentrating on an article about a country up north that had volunteered to sail a portion of the seas to document the destruction caused. His heart sinks. The countries who hadn't witnessed the Rumbling had no idea that the word ‘destruction’ was highly inadequate to communicate the gravity of the situation. 

Shaking his head, he turns the page again and inhales. "It'll be only a matter of time before the press finds out we're here, and they'll be breathing down our necks." He puts down the paper.

Reiner, Jean, Connie and Pieck have their heads down on the dining table, eyes squeezed shut and groaning. Armin sighs in exasperation, and wonders to himself how much they drank to get this hungover. When he'd come back home an hour ago, they'd been slumped over the dining table and hadn't moved since. 

"My head feels like lead…" Connie groans. 

"That rhymes." Reiner chuckles, cringing soon afterwards. 

"I told you not to drink so many cans of beer," Jean complains, cracking an eye open at Connie. "I told you it'd feel awful."

"Shut up, you egged me on," Connie retorts, lifting his head off and cradling it gently. "'One more, Connie, one more!' is what you said."

"I don't remember at all."

"Heh. You even told Armin to drink one more after his first, when you know how badly he holds his liquor."

Armin looks up from the paper, spoon halfway to his mouth. The three men regard him pitifully. 

"I'm sorry Armin," Jean looks apologetic. "I'm quite… insensitive when I'm drunk."

"... I'm– I'm alright," Armin says, trying to keep a straight face. "I didn't get very sick." 

Reiner cocks his head at him, blinking slowly. "Actually, the more I think about it, the more I feel like Armin wasn't even there…"

Jean tsks. "How drunk did you get that you can't even remember Armin was there?! Get a grip, Reiner. I’m always telling you that your drinking habits are awful–”

"But–"

"Oh, I was definitely there," Armin nods seriously. "Remember I got into a fist fight with you, Reiner?"

Reiner blinks a few more times before looking enlightened. "Oh yeah…"

Armin sighs, relieved and also amused. He only hopes their reputation hasn't been trashed already. God forbid their drinking habits make it to the press. 

"Water," Pieck grumbles with a dry throat, as she finally lifts her head off the table. "I need– oh, thanks." She takes the glass Jean quickly fills to the brim and downs it thirstily. 

"More?"

"Yeah."

Putting away the paper for good, Armin helps himself to another serving of porridge just as the stairs creak with Annie's footsteps. His heart leaps into his throat; he hadn't seen her since waking up and somehow, he's almost nervous.

And he blushes when she catches his eye on the last step and offers him something close to a smile, because she's blushing too and dear god, how is he going to act normally with her if she's that red in the face because she's thinking about all the things they did last night? 

Because things are a little different now. Things are… his eyes wander down her neck and he remembers how it tasted under his tongue; and the rest of her slight frame under her baggy clothes which… which he'd seen and touched and loved…

"Woah, you're so red," Jean notes, peering into his flushing face and Armin brings his bowl of soup up to drink it whole. A peek over the rim at Annie has his heart beating wildly – she's even worse, cheeks scarlet and trying her best to act normal.

And then, she takes a seat, and her mouth curves down in the smallest wince for a split second before it's gone, wiped clean off her face, and his heart drops to his stomach. She makes herself comfortable and draws her cooling bowl of porridge close. 

Shit. She's hurt. He's hurt her. He should've been more gentle with her, and he adds this to his growing pile of anxieties and worries, cursing at himself quietly for losing himself the way he did last night. Annie doesn't look at him, silently polishing off her food while the others continue with their bickering, but he drowns it all out, only concentrating on his own food and Annie opposite him. 

So when everyone crawls through lunch, he collects their dishes, dumps them in the sink and turns to look at Annie, getting up with that same small wince on her lips before making her way up the stairs. 

"What do you all want to do this evening?" Jean pipes up, looking considerably better. "I suggest we–"

"No," Armin says distractedly, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. "We have something important to do this evening, so stay home."

Reiner wipes his mouth. "What are we doing?"

"Just stay at home," Armin mutters, tossing the dishcloth by the sink before taking off upstairs. 

On the second floor and outside her room, Armin shifts from foot to foot, nerves coiling in his chest like a spring on high tension. He's never been in her room before and… oh shit he's hurt her in some way. Nevertheless, he swallows his nerves down and knocks, because Annie's well being is always more important than the guilt rising in his body. 

The door opens to her, looking pretty – has she always been this pretty? – and not in the least bit surprised to see him standing there and he has to gulp. He’s suddenly tongue tied and his heart is racing because she’s so close, and an avalanche of memories wash over him; her scent, her hair, the skin on her waist–

“You’re staring.” Annie points out, and he can tell she’s trying her hardest to not squirm in place. “What.” He looks at her cool blue eyes and he begins to stammer.

“I– I– that is, I mean–”

Annie sighs with a slump of her shoulders. “Are you going to make this awkward?”

Goddamn. He’d been much calmer in the morning when he’d woken up and kissed her, when his mind was still in the depths of slumber and bordering on panic. 

Annie sticks her head out past the door frame and stares at the empty corridor. Then she quietly yanks him into her room, shuts the door, presses him against the smooth wood, leans up on her tiptoes, and kisses him. Eyes falling closed, Armin’s racing thoughts finally skid to a stop and dissolve into calm waters, and his hands automatically wrap around her waist when he deepens the kiss. She smells the same, and feels the same, and tastes the same and it’s all too soon when she pulls away, so he chases her lips, leaning forward, making her spine curve backward. She sighs into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and this is okay, this is alright, this is how he remembers to breathe once again, in the puffs of air that leave her nose and wash down the skin of his cheekbones.

Eventually, she breaks the kiss and pulls away again, but only enough to keep the tip of her nose brushing against his. Palms rising to cradle the sides of her ribcage, he finally finds his voice. 

“Are you okay?” He murmurs softly. “You looked like you were in pain during lunch.”

“I’m alright,” She murmurs back, eyes still closed. “A little sore but… alright.”

Ah, shit. The guilt rises back to the surface and she senses it, of course she senses it, speaking before he has a chance to open his mouth.

"It's… it's to be expected. It's fine." 

"I'm sor–” He begins but she pulls free from his hold with a frown and steps away to pick up some of her clothes strewn on the floor. He takes his own steps forward to her bed, where he carefully sits on the edge, studying her room. 

There’s nothing much in her room, except for all the things that were already present when they first came here. But other than that, it’s empty. He looks around while she stuffs the clothes into her cupboard haphazardly; there are some items on the shelves inside the bathroom that he can see through the open door. The candle on her dresser, which he also has. An oversized shirt by the foot of her bed. But other than that… nothing. Nothing that’s Annie. 

His own room has begun to show signs of being lived in. Sometimes there are stacks of documents he brings home from the Chancellor’s office to read through and study. Reiner’s room was a mess. Jean’s room was clean and neat, but very much Jean , in that he fills it with the superficial items he buys. Connie’s room was littered with knick knacks of all sizes and kinds. And Pieck’s room was a jungle, from what he’d seen many days ago.

Annie’s room is… empty.

But also, it’s too large. And that’s what he struggles to wrap his head around; he’s pretty sure it’s the exact same size as his room, with the exact same number of floorboards to the window and the door and the bathroom and the cupboard; the exact same number of panels on the walls, the exact same number of nails hammered beside the cupboard to hang hats and coats and yet… It's too large. 

Or , he thinks, gazing at her back as she closes the bathroom door, maybe it’s Annie who’s too small for this room. He looks away when she turns around, his eyes landing on the open top drawer of her dresser, where he spots a small blue pouch lying inside – a small blue pouch that looks quite similar to... – but the mattress dips when she sits gingerly next to him and he forgets all about it.

“Um,” He scratches his neck. “I’m sorry. I was too rou–”

Annie groans, swatting at his arm. “Are you seriously going to apologise for this?”

“I mean–”

“If you’re apologising, does that mean you regret it?” She finally meets his eyes, severely pissed off.

“No! Of course not!”

“Then stop that,” Her voice softens and she takes his hand within both of hers, placing it on her knees. “Don’t apologise for… making me feel… good.”

Oh. 

His heartbeat picks up in pace once more and suddenly he’s blushing, and she’s blushing, and his voice is gone again. Annie merely strokes her thumb over the back of his palm, eyes cast down to the floor. 

"Did… you feel... good?" She asks, hesitantly, and it’s all he can do to not burst into laughter because, surely, she should know what she did to him last night… right?

So he says, as calmly as possible, "I think ‘good’ is a… severe understatement."

"Oh."

Several moments of silence pass where Annie grows stiffer and stiffer next to him and finally, he can’t bear it anymore because her ears are red and her cheeks redder, and his own embarrassment dissipates effortlessly because when Annie’s like this, all he feels like is the little boy within him who teases the girl he loves; the little boy he never got a chance to be.

Armin drops his head to peer into her curtained face. "Are you going to make this awkward?" He teases. 

She scowls at him and he knows he shouldn’t really tease her like this, but how can he not when her cheeks are so beautifully crimson? Unable to contain his laughter any longer, Armin wraps an arm around her shoulders and knocks her back on the bed, propping himself up on an elbow by her side. She looks up at him with eyes wide and blue and the back of her neck heats his forearm. Chuckling, he gives her a peck on the lips before sincerely saying, "I'm sorry I left like that in the morning. I really wanted to stay longer."

"Mhm," Annie hums, fiddling with his shirt collars. "Did it go well?"

A slow smile spreads over his face. "Not really. I was... distracted."

"... By?" She raises her eyebrows, and he thinks, she's never looked so pretty in her life than right now, with the late afternoon sunshine streaming in through her window. 

"Take a guess?" He mimics her expression. 

Annie's eyes drop from his and his heart skips a beat when he sees the hint of a playful smile on the corner of her lips. "Hmm... I really don't know."

He leans to bite her jaw, laughing. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah?" She stiffens under him, tense and expectant. 

He tilts his head playfully. "The map of Kald was too enchanting to focus on anything else."

He receives silence and a scowl and he has to bite his cheeks to control himself. Armin clears his throat and puts on a serious thinking face.

"But there was something else that distracted me too."

"Yeah?" She's once again tense and expectant and he's reminded of a cat waiting to be scratched under the chin. 

"The sky outside the window was so lovely to look at, I just lost myself in it."

Her fingers fall away from his collar and she turns her head to the side with a huff, glowering at the wall on the far end. Armin swallows a bubble of laughter that almost escapes his throat and drinks in the sight of Annie, the top of her head and tip of her nose dipped in warm light. 

"Oh? You're awfully quiet."

She stays silent, choosing to tsk at nothing in particular. 

Armin cocks his head and pokes at her side. "Maybe you wanted to hear something else?"

"Nope." Her voice is tight but he knows she isn't really mad. His smile grows.

"No?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

He shrugs with an exaggerated sigh. "Too bad. I was going to say what I was really distracted by, but..."

At this, she glances at him suspiciously, the frown and scowl still strong on her face and he can't help it anymore, he bursts into laughter and takes the chance to kiss her squarely on the mouth. 

"You, of course." He whispers against her lips, pulling away to see her try – and fail – to prevent a smile of her own.

"Hm?"

She plays with his shirt again. "When... will we do it again?"

Blood rushes downstream, and he wonders how he's going to survive life with her if she's going to be this forward when he least expects it. Not that he would have it any other way, of course. Seeing Annie ask for the things she wants from him… nothing could make him happier. But he should also acknowledge the very imminent possibility that she’s going to make him suffer.

"As soon as we can." He replies honestly, because they don't always have the privilege of being alone.

Annie swishes her lips. "When is that?"

Armin grins. "When do you want it to be?"

Her eyes stare at the ceiling  before meeting his, and they're bright and eager. "Now's not a bad time..."

He stops breathing, feeling himself on the losing streak now, and honestly, he's not very surprised, not with her looking like this and asking him to undress her with her eyes and make love to her again. 

"Now?" He repeats breathlessly. 

Annie nods slightly, biting her lip with a small smile and faintly, he notices his top button comes undone.

"Mhm. The guys won't come up here," She whispers, craning her neck up to brush her lips against his. "We're alone, technically." 

"But Pieck…" He trails off, eyes closing when she darts her tongue out to lick at his bottom lip. He's definitely losing. 

"We'll be quiet." She breathes, and suddenly, she's the confident one and he's not, succumbing to the feather-light sensation of her picking the second button out of its hole. 

But–

He pulls away. "I thought you said you were sore?"

There's mischief and need and want and desire in her eyes, and when he feels her foot sliding up over the back of his thigh, his breath hitches. 

"...  Maybe I want to be sorer."

Dear fucking god. He's losing and fast.

"I .. don't think that's a word." He manages to chuckle, reaching down to grip her ankle so she doesn't rile him up further. 

Annie inhales deeply, tilting her head and he sees her jugular, long and stretched. She's doing this on purpose, and the realisation sends his heart hammering wild.

"We can make it a word."

Fuck. He's lost and she knows it, if the tiny smirk on her lips is any indication. 

So he wipes it off with plenty of kisses just on this side of too innocent and too sweet that she gets frustrated again, and he backs away, laughing. 

His desire to be careful with her is just a little stronger than his desire to give her everything she wants because after all, the least he can do for her is to provide her with a stable and peaceful life where any ups and downs are only caused by her own volition to have them in her life. 

Sitting up, he glances at the clock. It's nearly four in the afternoon. "I want to... But I have to go out and buy something right now."

Dejected, she sits up as well. "What?"

Armin smiles, bringing her hand up to kiss the inside of her palm. "Don't you miss her?"

"Who?" She's puzzled. 

"Hitch."

The stationery shop is stacked to the ceiling with bundles of paper, diaries, books, pens, paint, easels, canvas, and plenty of other items he doesn't even recognise. It smells sharp and earthy, like paper rolled straight off the printing press and he feels at ease. He's used to these scents, having spent so much time in the library back on Paradis. 

"So what kind of paper are you looking for?" The lady asks him. "Parchment? Manila? Bond?" 

Armin has no idea, but he does know that their words are significant and need to be carried with importance. “The finest, please.”

The sun goes down toward the horizon with tendrils of burnt orange reaching between the street’s buildings and trees, and he goes up toward the house at the top of the hill with a bundle of heavy, thick paper tucked under his arm. He doesn’t dawdle, instead, his quick steps punctuate every thought he collects and gathers in his head and files away into categories and purposes. 

He has so much to say. So much to tell. So much to ask about. He pauses briefly to turn and stare at the icy mountains far beyond, kissing the fiery sun, and feels alone. Sometimes, he desperately wishes he could run somewhere to seek guidance from Commander Hange and Commander Erwin. Somewhere where all his mistakes can be corrected and fixed, his methods improved and improvised, by minds so many times sharper, minds with greater wisdom and experience. But no, he’s all alone, and he can only hope he makes decisions that won’t let them down. He continues his uphill climb.

And he’s got the others backing him up every bit of the long way ahead, but still… he feels solely responsible for their lives. For their lives he’d guaranteed would stretch long and full. 

There’s a singularity within him that swallows every ounce of love he’s given, into nothingness. 

As he nears the last few feet to their house, Armin’s ears perk up with the sounds of soft laughter and snorts coming from the garden.

“ … and Sasha was dangling the meat in front of that poor cadet’s face and…”

“... I remember that. But also this time when…”

Turning the corner, he sees Jean and Connie sitting on the wide expanse of grass, cross legged and relaxed, leaning back on their arms. 

“What’s this?” He smiles, crossing the threshold. “Reminiscing without me?” 

“Where did you go?” Jean grins back, inquiringly. “Connie looked for you.”

Armin doesn’t sit, choosing to stand behind them as they watch the sinking sun wash them in gold. The paper under his arm feels heavier, and he gazes at the snow capped mountains swallowing the sunset, inch by inch. The breeze is pleasant and the last clouds of spring go home for the year. The next time they see these spring clouds, he wonders what they’ll be doing. Where will they be? Here? Somewhere else? Safe? In danger?

“It’s been over a month,” He says quietly. “Since the Rumbling.”

“It feels like it’s been a lot longer,” Connie replies. 

The breeze is cool on his hot eyes and Armin closes them, letting it revive his anxious bones in only the way nature can. The last of the daylight quickly fades against the navy blue sky of night with stars beginning to twinkle in all their faint glory. Soon, the house behind them will glow from within. A house they’ve made their own. A house they can call home, for now.

“I wonder what they’re doing,” Jean murmurs. “All of them.”

“Yeah.”

“They’re likely holding out bravely against the Jaegerists.” Armin sighs. “It must be chaos.”

“With Floch dead, I wonder who’s leading them,” Connie says.

“Someone as fanatical as him. They keep rising forever, this kind.” Jean rises to his feet, dusting his buttocks. 

“Resistance will be difficult,” Armin shoves his hands into his pockets. “Their numbers were growing exponentially the last we saw–” He coughs. “The last we saw of them.”

“Historia is going to be having a tough time.” Connie grunts, also standing up. “If the public turn against her with the Jaegerists’ idealism…”

“You’re right,” Armin exhales. “But she’s no ordinary queen. You have to remember that. I have faith in her.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Jean says, “So do I.”

“So do I.” Connie follows. 

The sun is now gone, and Armin tilts his head back to follow a flock of seagulls migrating to the seas and oceans, heralding the changing season. The lights from the house flicker on, and their shadows fall long and tall in front of them. Behind his head, the moon silently graces the sky. 

“Do you think they’ll be proud of us?” Connie asks, his voice low. “Of where we’ve come.”

“I hope so.” Armin says, honestly. “But we have such a long way to go.”

“I hope we can make them all proud.” Jean sniffs. “I hope… their deaths will not be in vain.”

“Yeah.”

Such a long way to go, and such a long way from home. Armin wonders what becomes of them when they die. Do they simply turn to dust, their existence relegated instead to pages in the history books? Do they travel to another world where they are rewarded or punished for their good deeds and sins? Do they get reincarnated into new bodies, new lives?

Or perhaps, he thinks, looking at the pale white moon, perhaps there’s someplace where Commander Hange and Commander Erwin are, looking over him. Maybe Sasha is there too, with Marco. Hannes. Maybe all of the others who’d died in their struggle to get here, to a world without titans. Maybe in this place, the skies are blue and the weather is warm, and the earth, stamped with the footprints of colossals, grows green. 

Such a long way to go, and such a long way from home. Kald may be their home for now ; he may be imprinted with the ways of this land and the ways of the people here in the years to come; he may become a Kaldian without even realising it. But when he looks at Jean and Connie, standing on either side of him, he’ll always remember his days back home, back in Paradis, when they were young, hopeful and happy. 

He throws his arms around them both. “I don’t want to sound biased. It’s not that I don’t like Reiner and Pieck just the same, but… you two are just a little more special to me.”

The other two stiffen for a split second, before Jean hangs his head and Connie chuckles ruefully.

“What?” Armin says, looking confused. “Did I say something weird?”

“No,” Jean rubs his eyes. “No you didn’t.” And then he slings his arm over Armin in return.

“Do you like us more than Annie though?” Connie jokes through the sorrow laced in his voice. Armin laughs softly.

“No, that I don’t.”

“Hmph. You’ve got your priorities set,” Connie’s arm falls over his shoulder.

“But you’re a little more special to us too.” Jean sighs and Connie nods in agreement. 

This love that Armin receives, travels down his body and disappears somewhere, into nothingness. Tomorrow he’ll wake up, and question his worth all over again. 

There’s a singularity within him. And to destroy it, he has one last battle to fight, alone.

“C’mon. Let’s write home.”

To Her Majesty, Queen Historia,

We write to you from the country of Kald, untouched by the Rumbling. Mikasa might already have told you, but the colossals have fallen, and the power of the titans is gone forever. We write to you from a new world, where titans are no longer a threat. 

We spent three weeks in Fort Salta fixing the damaged railway. It was difficult, the weather was harsh and luck was not on our side; but we were rewarded with a running train, the dissolution of the Marleyan Military and the slow bridging of the gap between us and the Eldians from Liberio, who have always seen us as the island devils. We are happy to tell you that the cycle of hatred spanning two thousand years in our history has begun to turn back slowly. And it will not roll again, if we have anything to say about it. 

Kald is a beautiful country. You’ll be relieved to know they hold no prejudice against Paradis, and the fact that you’ve received these letters at all is only because they have agreed to help us in our efforts to establish dialogue with the rest of the world – which is now much smaller – and spread the message of understanding and peace. However, they require us to represent Kald in all our endeavours, and we have agreed. 

The press is still unaware of our presence here, but soon they will find out. In the next several months, we will begin political discourse between the remaining nations of this world. Please trust us when we say that we may talk for Kald, but in our hearts, Paradis is always first and foremost, our home. 

The Survey Corps may no longer exist on Paradis. But we carry the Wings of Freedom proud and high on our backs. The same Wings of Freedom that Your Majesty too, fought under and continue to believe in. 

Please protect our families until we return home. 

Sincerely Yours,

Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Annie Leonhardt, Reiner Braun, Pieck Finger. 

(PS: Historia! Don’t give into the Jaegerists!)

Hello Mother,

It’s Jean. 

I hope you’re alright and safe. I’m so sorry I couldn’t even bid you goodbye, things were… chaotic. You must have been so worried. I’m sorry, but I’m alive and well. 

I’m in a country called Kald with some others I fought with. It’s quite far away from Paradis. Nobody hates us here. I think you’d really like this place. The food is very good, so you don’t need to worry if I’m eating well. I’m only concerned about you. 

I have something to say though… and that is that I regret not being around more after I joined the military. Plenty of times I was rude to you because I wanted to secure a comfortable life in the Interior and I was embarrassed by your affections. I’m sorry, even if I’ve said it before. Now that I’m so far away from home, I miss so many things you did for me that I took for granted. 

I made your omelette for the others here, yesterday for breakfast. They loved it. 

Mother, I have two favours to ask. If you can, will you look for Connie’s mother? Mrs.Springer, in Ragako Village. She’s all alone now. It’s risky, so don’t go alone, take someone with you.

I’ll take care of myself, so just worry about yourself. I’ll come home as soon as I can.

Love,

Jean.

To Mikasa, 

How are you? No... I don't think it's something I can ask. Instead, I hope you're taking care of your health. It's been a little more than a month. 

I wish I could have seen you before you left. For a goodbye. When Armin told us you'd gone I was... Shocked. I hope you made it safely. Knowing you, I'm not really worried. No. But you know... Just... 

We are in a good place. Kald is kind. I think you'd like it here. Armin will probably tell you all about it, so I’ll leave it to him.

I thought a lot about whether I should say this to you or not. But I don't know when I'll see you again so I might as well. Eren and I didn't start out on the right foot. You know it. Several times I felt he straight up put you and all of us in danger. But I did care for both of you a lot, much more than I thought I did. Especially you. I'm sure you knew.  

When I blew up the dynamites, I really wanted things to have turned out differently. 

I wish nothing had to happen the way it did. 

For what it's worth, I thought I'd tell you this too. Eren loved you. I saw it in his eyes. He thought of you as much as you thought of him. This I know, and am sure of. He really loved you. I hope that brings you some comfort. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the next day. 

Tell him I'm sorry. 

Always your friend. 

Jean 。

Snap.

"Woah, you broke the nib!"

"That's a huge full stop right there."

"Yeah. I just... Put an end to something."

Hi Ma. 

It's Connie. I'm alive and well. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up. I hope you're somewhere safe now. I hope you're eating well. 

I'm in Kald. It's a great country with good food and good people. I'm living in a boarding house with Armin, Jean and Reiner. Also Annie and Pieck, who you don't know. My hair is longer and I think I've grown a little taller too. 

The other refugees from Fort Salta are also here in Kald. Do you know Ma, there are four boys who I've become friends with. They're aged nine. They remind me of Martin and Sunny. I'm going to look after them, from afar. 

Ma, I don't know if you were aware. But before leaving Paradis, I was about to do something awful. You wanted me to be a good soldier. I joined the scouts to make you proud. But what I was going to do... You would've hung your head in shame. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll try to be better. 

I'm so sorry that you woke up alone. Without dad, without Martin and without Sunny. I'm so sorry. 

I'm so sorry. I wasn't able to protect them, and I wasn't able to be with you when it was all over. 

I miss them and I miss you. I'll come home as soon as I can. Please stay safe till then. I'll write to you regularly. 

Your son,

Connie.

To Mikasa,

I can't believe you left, without saying goodbye. What the hell? I kept looking for you and Armin finally told us you'd gone back to Paradis? Rude, you know?

But... I hope you're safe. We're in Kald. Armin will tell you all about it. But it's a nice country. Nobody hates us here. You would've liked it, I think. 

Eren would've liked it too. I hope he's at peace. 

Tell him I'm sorry. 

Take care of yourself. We'll come home one day soon. 

Connie. 

Dear Historia,

It’s Reiner. 

I remember the first time I came to Paradis. It was the land of devils, as I’d always been told to believe. You were all sworn enemies I had to kill. I remember the first night I spent there, I really wanted to go back home. I remember I transformed to break the walls and carry out my mission and couldn’t believe how many lives I took. 

I remember the moments and days and months after, when I pretended to be one of you. There were so many children in the rehabilitation camps. I remember how some of them shared their rations with me. If I’m not wrong, one of them might have been Armin, I think, my memory is... A little fuzzy. 

I remember learning how nobody even knew of the world outside. I remember joining the military, where I was just one of many. learning that I was capable of being shown kindness to, capable of being treated not as a shield or armour, but as a comrade, as a fellow trainee, as a fellow soldier. I remember feeling disoriented with who I was raised to be, and who I was with everyone in Paradis. 

I remember being reminded of my mission, cruelly every night. 

I remember killing again. I remember letting you all down; I was never the friend you all thought I was.

I’m so sorry. I’ll never be able to repent enough for my sins in this lifetime. 

But Historia, sometime between all this, you were a rock that always kept me grounded in my murky reality. Your kindness always shone through even my darkest moments, and I’ve never forgotten the way you wrapped my wounded arm in Castle Utgard…

"Oi! What are you even writing?!"

"Piss off, Jean."

… your beautiful golden hair and your lovely eyes, I always thought of them, even when I was miles away from you…

"Seriously, stop that!"

"Piss off, Jean."

"She’s married, for fuck’s sake!"

[Page 6]... and I wish I could’ve seen you more often, during the times I came back to Paradis, but alas, Marley kept me under a tight grip, but even then, I thought of you so many times…

"Six pages?! Knock it off!"

"What are you even writing?!"

"I’m sure this letter alone will ban us from Paradis for the rest of our lives."

"Tsk, tsk, Reiner. So this is what you were doing when you went to carry out Marley’s honorary mission?"

[Page 14] …and I’ve kept the piece of your torn skirt as a memento of sweeter times, it always offers me a lot of strength and courage…

"Armin, make him stop!"

"Why aren’t you saying anything? Armin! "

To Mikasa,

It’s Reiner. You could’ve said goodbye y’know.

When it comes to Eren, I have so much to say but it’s difficult to put them in words. I feel like he understood me the best and… well…

For now, please tell him I’m sorry.

Eren, I don’t resent you. I understand you too. 

I’m so sorry.

Reiner.

Hey.

It's Annie. I'm sorry I left like that. I didn't mean to. But I'm okay. 

I'm in a country called Kald. It's quite nice here. Also quiet. I don't know if you'd enjoy it. 

I wonder how you're holding up there. You talked to me for four years but I couldn't show you my thanks properly.

If you'll wait for me until I visit you… I'll come up with something to return your favour. 

Don't give into the Jaegerists. 

Annie.

"Woah. So cold. She did spend four years wiping your crystal, you know?"

"..."

"Connie, leave her alone."

:)

"Oh my god Annie added a smiling face! This is quite scary honestly..."

"Connie! Lay off! Stop peeking into her letter!"

"Alright, alright! You ever realise how awfully defensive you get over Annie…?"

"Shut up."

:) :)

Hey.

It’s Annie.

Tell Eren I’m sorry. I wasn’t interested in fighting him. I’m sorry for everything. 

And thank you. You know what for.

Annie.

"No smiling face for Mikasa?"

"..."

"And what are you thanking her for?"

"... I owe her my life."

"Why?"

"... She protected something for me."

"What?"

"Connie, for god's sake, please let her just write her letter–"

"Jeez Armin, calm down, my man."

To Niccolo,

Hey. It’s Armin, Jean and Connie. We hope you’re doing okay. 

We’re writing from Kald, a country far away to the north. The Rumbling didn’t get here, so it’s intact and untouched. The Marleyan military is no more. Here there are all kinds of people and… it’s really nice. We wish you were here with us. The cuisine in this place is great! You’d really enjoy it.

Have you gone to see Sasha? When you go, can you tell her the food is delicious? Tell her we’re eating for her too. Tell her we really miss her.

Tell her we love her. 

And while you’re at it, tell her you loved her too, if you haven’t already.

Hang in there. See you soon.

Armin, Jean, Connie.

Hello Hitch.

We haven't met. I'm an ex Warrior from Marley, the same as Annie. We trained together in our childhood and were part of the same generation of Warriors. 

You might be wondering why I'm writing to you. I just wanted to thank you for looking after Annie for the last four years. When Reiner and Bertholdt came back without her, I thought she had died, but soon learned that wasn't the case. Then I was frightened, thinking she was all alone there. 

But you were there for her. You kept her company and remained her friend. Thank you for doing that. Annie holds you in high regard. 

I hope we can meet someday. She says we have lots of things in common. 

My warmest regards

Pieck Finger. 

Dear Mikasa,

It’s me. How are you?

I’m sure Historia will let you read the letter we wrote to her. But we left Fort Salta three weeks after the Rumbling and arrived in Kald. We’re staying in a boarding house given to us, in a village. And we’re all alright. We’re all okay.

Kald is beautiful. The village we are in is breathtakingly so. Our house is on the top of a hill, and the path downwards is a winding slope, with houses and the marketplace on either side. The market especially reminds me of the market back in Shiganshina. Do you remember how Eren used to pick a fight with every tradesman? We used to run after him chasing some mean kid or the other. 

Beyond the market, there’s a lake. It’s so clear you can see the bottom with ease. There’s a bridge going across, and on the other side are the refugees from Fort Salta. Beyond the cottages where they live, there are waterfalls. Beyond that, mountains that stretch to the sky. Beyond that, there’s much more that I haven’t seen yet. But I know this country has so much to offer, not just in the way of nature, but also its people. They don’t see us as Eldian Devils, but simply as humans, which is more than I could ask for. It’s a good place to start working for the future we’ve always dreamed for, I think.

I couldn’t tell you before you left. But what I wanted the most when I was stuck in the paths was to run toward the tree on that hill again, one last time. You remember right? How often we did that in the afternoons, when the leaves would fall over our heads in heavy showers. 

How is Eren under our tree?

Tell him I have so much to say. Tell him I miss him. Tell him I love him.

When we came here, it was quite cold, but the seasons are changing and summer is upon us. I wonder how many seasons I will have to go through before I see you again. But no matter what, I will come home. We will come home. That’s a promise. So wait for us. 

Everyone misses you. Would you believe me if I said they miss Eren too?

Write back to me.

Always yours,

Armin.

“Is everyone done?”

“Put them in this envelope.”

“Seal it.”

“This?”

“For authenticity. And so Historia knows it’s from us and makes sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands first.”

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Summer.

She arrives at the heel of a spring cloud, dancing merrily with the last of the colder winds, giving way to balmy weather and blazing sun. Summer sits on top of the hill like a great big floral wedding hat, loose flowers cascading from the ribbon in a rainbow of colours. Summer calls songbirds and sparrows, robins and doves to dance in the skies, and brings the cows and deer to graze in the grassy fields. Summer banishes all forms of thick fabric – be it clothing or bedding – to the dark unused drawers of the cupboard and strips clothing down to the bare minimum required to maintain modesty. Summer cuts up watermelons and mangoes and places large jugs of ice-cold water on the kitchen table where the curtains flutter in the refreshing breeze. Summer keeps the windows open throughout the day, and socks permanently off their feet. 

Summer makes Annie throw on the lightest of clothes in the form of a loose shirt and loose knee length shorts at four in the morning, pick up her long-empty glass of water and exit her room barefooted. The house is quiet as it always is at this hour and the floorboards are cool under her feet. It’s only the early mornings and evenings that retain the last few degrees of chill, and they’re quickly losing even those to what feels like the ever-present sun on the back of their necks, breathing down heat. 

Crossing Armin’s room, Annie quietly pushes his door open and pokes her head in. The head of tousled blond hair is turned away from her as he sleeps with his back facing the door, light bed sheets kicked off to a corner from the lukewarm temperatures of the night. His breathing is even and steady and she watches the slow rise and fall of his shoulders with longing before stepping back and closing the door. Armin is busy these days; meetings with the Chancellor and the ministers take up all of his time. With him leaving in the mornings right after breakfast and mostly returning late into the night when she’s already tired and hovering over the land of dreams and nightmares, she barely sees much of him. Sometimes Jean goes with him, sometimes Connie, and sometimes Reiner. Once, Pieck. Never her, and when she’d asked why on one rare evening together, he’d kissed her and said she didn’t need to bother with ‘these things’, although, of course she could come if she wanted to? But she hadn’t been able to feign enough excitement; he’d laughed at  her turned up nose at the prospect of sitting through entire days of pouring over maps and documents, and – she didn’t have to, he said. She could spend her days however she wanted. 

But she misses him terribly. 

Down in the kitchen, Annie drinks half a jug of water before making her way to the foyer, wiggling her toes into rubber slippers, and stepping out into the short-lived coolness of the early morning. 

The warm season makes her excessively lazy, and so her steps reflect that sluggish feeling – slow, relaxed and unhurried. The walks are only for routine anyway, never strictly about exercise, though Annie supposes she should start doing some light training to keep herself fit and in shape. These days, her walks take her all the way across the bridge and to the settlements before turning back to return. With the fog thin and weak, she sometimes counts the stars nestled in the dark skies while climbing the hill back home, hands in the pockets of her shorts. 

On this morning, she descends the hill at a leisurely pace, letting the orange glow of the street lights flicker on her every time she passes under them. Her familiarity with this path has grown to the point where, with her eyes closed, she can tell where the cobblestones split away into rough jagged edges and where they are worn smooth; she can tell apart the tinkle of the brass wind chimes from the glass ones before she even passes by the houses where they are hung; she knows where the black and white fat cat regularly engages in violent fights with a marmalade tabby before even crossing the action scene. The village grows into her veins like ivy and Annie doesn’t stop it.

Down the spiraling streets, past all the shops she’s used to seeing, past the open meadows with their fresh air, and across the bridge, Annie ends the first leg of her stroll. She never steps foot onto the land where the cottages sit; her feet remain on the last plank of the bridge when she turns home. Annie has grown fond of it all, the crisp air in her lungs, the softness of the fur of the cats she stops to pet, the chirps of early birds waiting for the sunrise. She’s fond of it all.

But there’s one place she’s a little more fond of than anything else. A spot she likes to think of as her very own secret place. On her way back up the hill, if she turns into the narrow alleyway between the water well and the shoemaker’s, crosses the little dirt path between the buildings, she will emerge on a little expanse of hilly slope – home to nothing but a birch tree and a fantastic view. From here, aided with the absence of dense fog over the lake thanks to the warmer weather, Annie can observe the entirety of the lake, the bridge, the cottages beyond, and the lofty mountains – dark and mysterious at their peaks. It’s a sight that makes her feel like she’s on top of the world despite the fact that their house is the highest peak on this particular hill, but in this secret place, she has a clear unobstructed view of the settlements so far away, so far below where she stands. 

This morning, however, there is a guest under the tree and she stops short. 

“Annie.” The guest quietly greets her, standing up with a shy gaze. “Good morning. I thought… you might come.”

Annie regards Aoife warily, not moving a step. The young girl is fully dressed, her silver-blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, green eyes expectant as she holds what appears to be a small bag between her palms. It’s still dark and the light from the streetlamp close by pours rays of dim light through the wispy branches of the trees, creating an eerie glow of light under it, where Aoife stands. 

“Were you waiting for me?”

Aoife nods, a little hesitantly. “I saw you walk by, several mornings and… I saw you coming here too.”

“How?” Annie narrows her eyes.

“My window,” She points over her head at the shuttered second storey glass panes of a little house higher up on the slope. “That's where I live. Candy shop below.”

“Right.” 

Aoife shifts her weight from foot to foot nervously. “Um. I told you I’d bring you… sweets.” She raises her hands, offering the bag to Annie. “I made these last night. Do you want to try them?”

Here, under the birch tree, with moths fluttering under the streetlamp, Annie wonders if she has room for this in her heart, space for this new acquaintance, but she eyes the bag of sweets and decides no harm can possibly come from accepting them. So she inhales and nods. “Sure.”

She takes the bag and sits on the soft grass, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, and motions to the girl. “You can sit too.”

Aoife relaxes and plops down beside her, arms wrapped around her bent knees. She watches her open the bag and pour the sweets into her hand – canary yellow and soft, coated with powdered sugar – and says, “They’re made from mango pulp. Dried under the sun. It’s really sweet.”

Annie pops the sweets into her mouth and her eyes fall closed – they melt on her tongue, rich, sugary, sublime – and slowly nods her head. “It’s very good.”

Opening her eyes, she finds Aoife looking glad and relieved, unspoken tension leaving her slight frame. She glances at her arm covered under a long sleeve and curled around her calves. “How’s your arm?”

The girl’s eyes are cast down and she shrugs. “It’s alright. Healing. Slowly.”

“Can I see?”

The arm is extended toward her and she pulls back the sleeve, cool eyes studying the burn marks. There’s no surprise that the round stamps of violence still look angry, but considerably less so, and Annie’s sure the scars left behind will last a long, long time. She drops her arm with a sigh. “Are you still applying the gel?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still have enough?”

“Yes.”

And that concludes their conversation for the morning, with Annie continuing to chew on the sweets and Aoife quietly keeping her company, sharing the view of the lake and cottages burning bright. Five minutes become ten, ten becomes fifteen and when the sky lightens a shade or two and the streetlamp dims down further, Aoife is the first to leave, bidding a shy goodbye.

The second time Annie sees Aoife, she tries cherry flavoured toffees and they make her tongue pink. Once again under the tree and crisscrossed with black shadows blocking the lamp light, they spend their shared viewing of the lake in silence broken only by occasional one-word questions and single-syllable responses. No question that really matters is asked, such as the cause behind the slightly swollen foot Aoife sports on her left. 

The third time Annie sees Aoife, the atmosphere is much lighter and more comfortable with the young girl bringing Annie a cup of blackcurrant jelly and explaining with increasing excitement how she made it. She watches Aoife’s animated fingers and brighter eyes and wonders if all it took for this abused girl to open up was one act of sympathetic kindness and some shared moments of solitude away from the world. When she goes back home, she wonders if she too would've opened up like this, if someone had sat with her in Marley to watch the lonely sunsets. 

But the space in Annie’s heart is limited so she keeps the questions on her tongue at bay. She doesn’t want to know any more than she already does, because this is dangerous territory.

“How did you learn to make all this?” Annie asks the fifth time they meet, with the last chunk of a candied apple buried in her mouth. 

Aoife offers her a smile, one of several rare ones of late, “I learned from my father, of course.”

“Mhmm,” Annie nods, looking off into the distance, trying to hold the questions back in her throat.

And she fails.

“What’s he like?” 

Aoife drops her head to pick at a loose thread at the hem of her skirt, seemingly unaffected but Annie can tell from five days and half of sitting next to her that she’s put up her walls to guard herself and the demon they don’t usually talk about. 

“He’s nice,” She replies, voice too light. “Yeah. He is.” Annie has to wonder if that was an addition to drive home her point or whether it was simply reassurance under denial. 

Annie has to wonder, because she’s done all of this and more, and now, despite her head screaming inside her skull to remove herself from this situation, from Aoife, from everything lest she get too close to past horrors – her heart pushes on. 

“Mhmm.” She chews her lip, fixing her gaze on the orange lights of one cottage out of several, the one that belongs to her father. “So then… why does–”

“I–” The girl’s voice is a little too bright. “I– sometimes fall. A lot.”

Leaning her head back against the bark of the tree, Annie exhales quietly, letting go of the breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “You sometimes fall a lot ?”

The walls grow taller and the little body smaller. “Yes.”

Annie ignores the warnings going off in her head to stop, stop, don’t ask, stop – “What does–”

But it’s Aoife that removes herself from the situation when she stands up and laughs too forcefully. “I have to go. See you tomorrow… Annie.”

Watching her retreating back, Annie finds that the candied apple is no more in her mouth, the thin wooden stick lying unpleasantly over her tongue and she pulls it out, rising to her feet. She shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t ask . She doesn’t have space in her heart for this. Aoife is okay. Aoife is happy. Besides, Annie hasn’t seen any more injuries on what she could see of her exposed skin and noticed no more limps and winces in the past few days. Aoife is a smart girl, she’ll know when to escape before the situation gets too dangerous, just like today. 

She doesn’t need to get too close to this. It’s dangerous territory and she wants none of it.

But when Annie meets Aoife for the ninth time, her blood runs cold and drains out of her body entirely.

Green eyes look at her, lifeless and dull, only one of them standing out against the pale skin, the other barely visible from under swollen eyelids tinged deep red. And when the wind blows her silver-blonde hair away from her face, she sees the thin necklace of bruises circling her neck. 

Bile rises to her throat first. 

Then rage.

And then, towering over all else – fear.

Annie stands there for what feels like too long – long enough for the grass to grow taller under her feet – before she finally remembers to breathe, and calms down, stepping forward to sit beside Aoife. She’s quiet, silent and doesn’t utter a word, eyes fiercely fixed on the cottages in the distance. 

“I didn’t bring you anything today,” Aoife croaks after a long time. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She replies, voice tight.

And then, when the silence becomes thick enough to slice, Annie lifts a knife and cuts through it.

“Did you fall this time too?”

Aoife’s answer is a wordless nod. 

This is dangerous, Annie thinks, her neck stiff with keeping her head from turning to glance at the little girl. This is dangerous and I don’t want to go here. I’m scared.  

This is dangerous. Step away at once.

“Aren’t you tired of falling?” 

There's no answer this time, and Annie isn't surprised. If anyone had asked her the same question before she was sent to Paradis, she wouldn't have answered either. Shame crawls up her throat. She shouldn't have asked that. She had no right to.

No right to ask it because hadn't there been a time in her life too, when she was punched and kicked into the slush, when she'd been bruised and screamed at night and day, and she'd gone back anyway, to her home, to her father, who even in his foul moods had a light supper prepared for her, and she'd gone back to it all because what else did she ever have?

This child is the same.

Aoife remains silent, eyes reflecting the pinpricks of light faintly and with no life, and she shrinks into herself even further. Annie should just leave her be. That's the right way to go about this. And yet…

… Those green eyes didn't deserve any of what was happening to her. Unlike Annie, she wasn't a murderer. Her hands weren't made to see blood. Her heart was innocent, dark and quiet only from the horrors she witnessed at home. She's nothing like Annie and so… how is this fair? 

"I was like you," Annie says eventually. "I was hurt plenty of times, just like you."

There's a movement and she doesn't have to look at Aoife to know she's got her attention. 

A long inhale, to brace herself to remember memories she's suppressed for several years altogether. "When I was a small kid, I was trained to fight. I was trained to do… terrible things. My father was the one who began to teach me before I joined the military. And… many times, he was very cruel."

Many times, what an understatement. Every day had been like that. Injuries were nobody's concern but her own and she can still remember in vivid detail how her twisted ankle screamed in pain when she was told to kick the padded posts again and again, without mercy. 

The cottages are distant. Far too distant. But there are tears brimming in her eyes and maybe that's why she's seeing it all wrong. 

"I was beaten and hurt," She continues. "I didn't have anybody, I was all alone." Annie turns to face her. "Just like you."

Aoife straightens her back slightly and meets her gaze. The angry bruise around her eye sits in a violent contrast against her otherwise sweet features. "But I'm not like you."

Annie lifts an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," She replies, voice low and hesitant. "Because I'm not alone. I have… you."

Annie's face heats up and it makes her eyes burn. That's not true. That's not true and it won't ever be true. That's not why she's here. She's here only for–

Why is she here?

"I knew you were strong," Aoife says, pulling a thread off her socks. "I knew it the moment I first saw you. But I'm not strong. I'm… weak."

Annie turns away sharply. No no no no no. She knows what's coming. She’s gotten herself into this mess. Why does she always do this? Go where she knows she shouldn’t? What’s wrong with her? 

Why is she here?

Aoife sniffs quickly, gingerly touching her bruised neck. "I don't like being weak. Sometimes I just want to be able to… stop it all. But I don't know how and there was never anybody to– to ask."

Stop. Stop, get up and leave. Now. But Annie doesn't budge, blinking at the view of the cottages furiously to contain her growing panic. 

It feels like forever and also too soon when it comes. 

"Can you teach me?" 

Silence.

"Can you teach me?" Aoife repeats and Annie wants to pretend she doesn't hear the hope in her voice. "To fight."

To fight. Fighting had won her medals and ranks. Fighting had won her a terrible red armband. Fighting had won her appreciation from her father. Fighting had won her a two-way ticket to Paradis she had instead exchanged for a crystal. Fighting had won her nothing but misery and the permanent red stain of blood on her soul. Fighting had brought her death, destruction and loss. Fighting had brought her face-to-face with a friend who she hadn’t wanted to sacrifice to protect herself, but had done so anyway. Fighting–

Absolutely not.

When she says nothing, the next question comes. "I want to be strong. Just like you."

The cold metal of her ring digs into the skin of her fingers and it reminds her of what it means, what it always has represented. A beautiful band of steel hiding a nasty secret underneath, a sharp pointy tooth that had transformed her into something horrible and awful and made her take lives. That’s what she learned to fight for. That’s what she’d been beaten for. 

This girl would never be like her. She shouldn’t be like her.

“No.”

Fighting? She’s done. All she wants is a peaceful life. 

“No,” She repeats with stronger conviction, and turns to stare into Aoife’s confused irises. “You can’t be like me.”

Annie stands, and watches the young girl scramble to her feet in bewilderment. “B–but–”

“I’m not going to teach you how to fight,” She sighs, feeling a heaviness in her heart when she should be feeling light. “I’ve done terrible things in my life. I’m– I can’t…” She trails off. I can’t act like a good person now, after all this time. I can’t fix my sins. 

Aoife’s shoulders drop and the spark of hope in her eyes that Annie’s been watching grow brighter over the past week, dies down with a flicker, and this too is my fault, Annie thinks, clenching her jaws to suppress her disappointment with herself. I gave false hope to this kid, and snatched it away. 

“I’m sorry,” Annie mutters and begins to walk away. It’s the first time since they met that Annie leaves first and she doesn’t look back to see wide open green eyes, broken into pieces.

The space in Annie’s heart is limited, and she has no more room to spare.

The next time she goes on her walk and stops at the tree, Aoife is there with a bag of sweets, hope once again glimmering in her bruised eyes. The patch of violent red is turning an ugly purplish blue and it only makes Annie’s heart twist into a knot. 

“Mango, again.” Aoife chirps cheerfully. “You like them. I thought if– if I–”

Annie turns on her heel, starting to walk back home.

“Annie!” Aoife runs after her. “Please teach me to fight.”

“No.” She replies firmly, hands shoved into the shallow pockets of her shorts.

“Please,” Aoife pleads, her footfalls behind Annie ceasing after a few steps. Annie doesn’t stop and she hurries home before the sky lightens any further.

That should’ve been enough to turn anyone away from her for good, but Aoife is there once again, under the tree, the next morning. There’s apprehension, desperation and fear in her frail looking body held together by a thin string of hope – and Annie doesn’t understand how she could’ve possibly been the reason for so much of the hope – and her heart breaks at the sight, knowing full well she’s once again, going to take it all away.

Annie regards her with a frown – one that she makes as angry as possible – but Aoife doesn’t look away. Instead, she comes out from under the tree and lets the dusty light shine on her bruises in full glory. 

“Annie,” Her voice is soft. “I want to be strong, like you.”

But she can’t. She shouldn’t ever be like her. Annie grits her teeth. “Do you know what terrible things I’ve done with my strength?”

“I–”

“I’ve killed people,” Annie whispers, trying to push away the flashing images in her head of all those she crushed to a pile of bones. “That’s what I used my skills for.”

But Aoife doesn’t flinch. She continues to gaze at Annie with earnest, hopeful eyes and takes a step closer.

“But you’d be helping me.”

Annie blinks, feeling the tears well up. No . No she can’t help anyone. She has no right to do that; her ring, ice-cold within her fingers clenched tight, reminds her of that everyday. She can’t let it go, she won’t ever be able to take off the ring, she’ll wear it for the rest of her life because surely, she should do at least this much to never forget the massacre she was responsible for. 

“I can’t help you,” She whispers again, biting back a sob. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

And with that, she climbs the hill back home, leaving Aoife there, alone in the world once more. She can’t help her and pretend it will undo every single crime she’s committed. No, she doesn’t get that luxury. 

Deeper than this sentiment however, is the fear of what she would be bringing upon herself by walking too close to a borderland she doesn’t want to cross ever again.

No, she just wants to live in peace and quiet.

Annie stops going on her morning walks after this.

The days are mostly pleasant, bordering on just this side of a little too hot, but in thin clothes and plenty of glasses of water and cold fruit slices, everyone manages. Even Armin abandons double layers, choosing to make to his meetings in just a shirt loosely tucked into his pants. He’s busier than ever and all Annie gets to see of him is in the mornings at breakfast when he briefs the others about the treaty he’s drawing up between the six of them and Kald. Once, just once, he came home early and Annie all but broke down the door to his room after dinner. They’d rolled around in his bed, kissed enough for their lips to hurt and their fingers had danced under each other’s shirts before he fell asleep in her arms. After a while of staring at the ceiling, feeling his breath on her neck, she slipped away and went back to her room because… because how could she possibly ask him for anything when he was that tired?

But she misses him terribly. 

And so, Annie spends her days lazing around the house. With no more walks to busy herself in the early hours, her days stretch long and empty. Once in three days, she makes a trip to the bakery to stock up on her favourite supplies and comes home without dawdling anywhere else. She takes up Connie’s offer to play checkers and after losing the first two matches, picks up on the game and begins to beat both him and Reiner in continuous streaks – much to their despair of course – and the two sore losers quickly dump the game in the attic. On some afternoons, she munches on watery pears and shares the cool wooden floor space in the sitting room with Pieck, Reiner and Connie, lying spread eagled like a starfish under the refreshing summer breeze blowing in through the wide open windows. Her days and hours float by like the slow clouds in the bright blue sky and Annie begins to let herself get used to this life, one where she’s not expected to do anything for anybody but herself.

But it nags at her.

It nags at her, what she left behind under the tree a week ago. 

Who she left behind under the tree more than a week ago.

It nags at her and she wills it to go away, to disappear, but even in her peaceful naps, it lingers like dull static in her head, reminding her that she abandoned a young girl who probably saw her as the one beacon of light in her dark world. 

It nags at her.

And it nags at her now, as she sits by the kitchen window feeling the afternoon breeze cool her warm skin, struggling to fill in a puzzle in the corner of that morning’s newspaper;  struggling because she can’t for the life of her, concentrate.

Sighing, she folds up the newspaper and slaps it on the surface of the table in annoyance. The sunlight glints off her ring and she pauses, leaning back in her chair and holding her fingers up to look at it. The ring has adorned this finger for a long time and it's very much become an integral part of her. She couldn’t remove it even if she wanted to. The ring is punishment. Punishment for all that she did and failed to do. 

So now, with a long life ahead of her, isn’t it enough if the ring remains on her finger like a permanent noose, a reminder of her horrific past? Why should she be forced to remember it all in another way? 

Doesn’t she deserve a peaceful life where fighting is no longer a part of it?

Yet it continues to nag. 

Blowing her cheeks out in irritation, she scrapes back the chair noisily and decides to head back to her room. Maybe a nap will shut off her brain for now.

She climbs the stairs slowly, watching her shadow fall on the wall from the window on the landing to the first floor. She pauses, tilting her head to study the dark shape mirroring her every movement. She would never grow taller anymore, no, she would have to live the rest of her life staring at herself, more or less the same in height as when she had delivered carnage on Paradis. She feels bitter and turns away, crossing Armin’s very empty room before climbing the set of stairs to the second floor. 

Annie means to go straight to her room and plop herself on the pillow, but when she notices Pieck’s door ajar, she stops by the doorway to peek in. Her windows are wide open and the breeze blows the thin curtains apart. The sounds of clothes being furiously shaken makes her push the door open further and she sees Pieck folding up her laundry.

“Oh, Annie,” Pieck notices her and smiles. “Finished the crossword?” 

“Got tired of it,” Annie mumbles, stepping into the room into which sunshine streams in broad pillars through the windows. Pieck hums in acknowledgement, bending to pick up the tall wicker basket and set it on her bed.

It smells like fresh linen, wet earth, moss and fresh leaves in here, and sitting on the edge of Pieck’s bed, Annie appreciates how healthy the plants look. With the warmer weather and more light, they’re thriving, and several of the climbers have taken hold of the walls, creeping upwards, steady and strong. Many of the baskets hanging from nails and hooks sway gently, bright green tendrils longer than the last time she saw them. On the dresser, potted plants glisten with drops of water.

“Bored?” Pieck chuckles, tucking the sleeves of a cardigan into a clean fold. “Summer makes you feel lazy, doesn’t it?”

“Hm.” Annie drops her gaze to the balls of lint on Pieck’s neatly made bedding. “I guess.”

Pieck pauses, raising her eyebrows at Annie before understanding dawns over her pretty face. “Ahhh. You’re lonely.”

Annie says nothing, turning her head away to survey the other half of the room in a poor attempt to avoid looking like she’s been caught red handed.

But Pieck just laughs softly. “Yeah, well, I don’t blame you. He’s awfully busy. I don’t understand how Jean puts up with it most of the days, I’m sure he dozes off in there.”

When she shakes a skirt firmly before pressing it into two folds, the shimmery dust particles in the sunshine flutter about, and Annie watches them, feeling lost, like one speck of dust among millions. 

“But you went with him, once,” Annie notes. “Didn’t doze off yourself?”

“Almost did,” Pieck grins. “It was so boring. Important, of course, but boring.” She clicks her tongue after a quick glance at Annie. “He’s probably fed up too, you know. Armin, I mean. But I think he’s trying his best to do an impeccable job.” 

Annie splays one set of fingers on the soft bed sheets, watching the light cover her fingers like a glove, upto the wrist. He did look tired and spent in the mornings. If only the treaty work got over fast, maybe they’d have a break, some time to spend together, time she could well use to distract herself from the storm brewing in her head. 

“You could go with him though,” Pieck suggests, placing a stack of folded clothes on the mattress. “Won’t be very exciting of course, but you’d get to spend the day together.”

Annie can’t help a scoff. “Yeah, in a room full of ministers, pouring over boring documents. Fun.”

Pieck laughs. “You’re not wrong,” She picks up the stack and pulls open the cupboard with her foot, placing them on a shelf inside. “Although I think it would be nice to just sit together like that.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Especially if you’ve missed him for a while.”

Ah.  

The statement is light and casual, but Annie catches the hidden sentiment between the words and immediately feels a crushing guilt snowball inside her chest. Once again, here she is, complaining to Pieck about her lonely love life, while not so much as a shred of Porco’s body remained on this earth for Pieck to sit next to him to enjoy his warmth. She hangs her head in shame before collecting herself and taking a deep breath.

Annie turns to look at Pieck, picking up another wicker basket of laundry from the floor. The sunlight makes her silver necklace glimmer brilliantly around her neck. 

“How… are you?” She asks softly.

“Hm? I’m alright,” Pieck chuckles as she rolls up her socks into a neat ball. “Why?” And then she sees Annie’s face and her smile falters. “Oh.”

Annie coughs, feeling terrible. “I’m sorry, maybe that was–”

“No, no,” Pieck shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m… getting better, I think.” A sock falls to the floor from her hands and Annie bends to pick it up. “Yeah.”

“Mhmm.” Annie purses her lips – great, now she’s done it. 

Silence falls over them for several minutes and only the soft sounds of more fresh linen being shaken free of wrinkles fills the air. Another breeze blows into the room and Annie watches the leaves of the plants by her feet nodding gently as if to tell her they understand her and Pieck, everything, all of it.

“You know,” Pieck says, breaking the silence, and Annie turns to look at her staring out of the window. “I pictured this so many times in my head. A late afternoon summer day in our house full of plants. I’d be reading a book or,” She looks at the pile of laundry. “Folding clothes, like this. His clothes, and mine. He’d walk into the room and say something silly and I’d laugh. Then he’d go off to make coffee and I’d follow him. After coffee and dinner maybe we’d watch the moon from the garden. And then we’d go to sleep and everyday would be like this.”

Pieck wears a sad smile, her dark eyes lost somewhere far away. “Everyday… would be like this.”

Annie wonders what ever became of Porco’s necklace. Was it lost inside Falco’s titan form? Was it lost under the rubble in Shiganshina? There’s no way to ever find out.

“Anyway,” Pieck shrugs, exhaling loudly. “I pictured this so many times that sometimes I think I see him in this room.”

Annie fists the sheets under her fingers. 

“But of course, I know it’s not real. I can’t go crazy at this age. I’m too young for that.”

Pieck quietly folds more clothes as Annie stares at her bare feet on the floor, curling and uncurling her toes. She should say something, to comfort her, but no words come. 

“I was thinking of getting a diary,” Pieck says.

“A diary?” Annie asks.

She nods. “To empty my head before bed every night. I think it would be a nice habit to have. Maybe it’ll help for moments when I’m feeling too much.”

Moments when she's feeling too much. Like now? Annie wonders. Would it help her too? Like now?

“Do you want to go buy one with me?” Pieck says, smiling. “It’ll be fun, we can do some shopping for other things too.”

Annie nods without a second thought. “Sure. Now?”

“No, not now.” Pieck shakes her head. “There’s something I need to do.” 

“What?”

She turns to point a finger at the windowsill and Annie follows her gaze. 

Her heart sinks.

“It’s dead.”

There, on the windowsill, sits a pot. The same pot Pieck had cradled many days ago in the middle of the night, devastated that the plant inside it was dying. And now, it truly is dead, with all the leaves long gone and the stem wilting, brown and dry. The second her heart hits rock bottom in her gut, shock swoops up her spine and she finds her voice.

“B–but I took it to the shop the next morning and–”

Pieck sighs. “I did everything the lady advised you. She said it needed more light, so I placed it on the sill. She said I had to be more consistent with the watering, so I stuck to a schedule. She said I had to water until the water drained out, so I watched every drop fall until it stopped.” She hunches her shoulders with a deep breath before letting them slump in defeat. “I did it all. But it still died.”

Annie gets up, walking to the window for a closer look. There’s nothing in the pot except for the dead stem and the moist soil. 

“I stopped watering when it turned brown.” Pieck continues behind her. “It’s gone, Annie.”

Annie’s head snaps around, while her fingers curl around the cold pot. “Maybe we can–”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s gone.”

Annie’s hands fall away to her sides, and she stands there, as limp as she feels inside. She remembers how she’d run to the gardening shop the very next morning in a hurry, even as Pieck continued to sleep through her exhaustion. She’d even written down the instructions on paper before coming back home and talking Pieck through them after breakfast. There had been hope. 

But now it’s dead.

“So I wanted to bury it today,” Pieck says, going back to her last pieces of laundry and folding them up. “It deserves a decent burial, I think.”

Annie looks between the plant and Pieck slowly, and mumbles, “I’ll help.”

“Yeah,” Pieck smiles at her before putting the finished stack of clothes away in her cupboard and closing the door with a soft thud. “Yeah, you can.”

She puts away the wicker baskets and steps forward to take the pot in her hands, and Annie notices how gently she holds it to her chest. Like it’s still alive. “Come on,” Pieck says, motioning toward the door. “I thought of a good place. The back garden.”

Annie pulls the door open and they exit, but not before a vine catches on Pieck’s ankle from where it’s trying to climb the wall by the doorframe. 

“Oh dear,” She sighs, shaking her foot to free herself. “They’re all over the place. I should put hooks on the walls so they can find support. I’ll ask Reiner to help.”

“I’ll help too,” Annie says.

Pieck shoots her another grateful smile and pauses at the middle of the entrance before Annie can close the door. Looking at her room covered in green, she chews on her lip, lost in thought. Annie watches her hug the pot to her heart. 

“This one died,” Pieck murmurs, eyes sweeping over the long tendrils hanging from the walls. “Maybe I can’t save them all, but I can save the rest.” She turns to Annie. “I have it in me to look after the others, wouldn’t you say?”

Annie looks into Pieck’s dark brown eyes and sees kindness; kindness she’s not surprised to find, kindness she doesn’t know if she herself possesses in enough quantity. But her words begin to echo in her heart.

Maybe I can’t save them all, but I can save the rest. 

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. C’mon.”

In the back garden, Pieck drops to her knees under the birch tree in the corner that Annie had barely noticed was even there. The slender white bark is mostly smooth, ridges circling it evenly and black patches dotting the pale surface. The foliage is wispy and feathery, rustling in soft whispers whenever the wind passes through the leaves. 

Annie looks at Pieck, then at the grassy earth under their feet. "Should I get some tools?"

Pieck shakes her head. "No. I want to do this by hand."

Annie kneels opposite her by the foot of the birch and watches her get to work. Pieck sets the pot down and spreads her hands over the grass, stopping when she finds a spot she likes. Straight fingers curl into the earth and very soon, she's digging up a small hole, tufts of grass coming off in clumps of soil. Annie joins in, feeling the dirt sink under her nails. 

The sunset burns the garden in deep orange when the hole is done. Birds go home for the day and Annie’s eyes grow warm from staring at the fiery ball of gold for too long. From here, she can see the summer sky, clear and bright, streaked in evening colours above the top of the bamboo grove and the forest stretching long beneath their house. 

A sniffle draws her attention back to Pieck, who silently works the plant out of the soil – and it comes off easily, far too easily. The withered stem lies between her hands like a dead body, lifeless and limp, and Pieck stares at it for a few seconds before placing it inside the hole and throwing a handful of fresh earth over it. Annie follows with a handful of her own and they cover the hole up, smoothing over the mound that is now a grave for a dead plant. 

Perhaps more than a dead plant.

Pieck glances up at the canopy of the birch. "Well. It will enrich the soil for the tree."

"Organic matter." Annie murmurs. 

Pieck moves to sit next to her and they stare at the sinking sun in silence, feeling the breeze on their faces, blowing back their hair. The sky fades into darkness with each passing second and the warm air gives way to a comfortable coolness. 

"Do you remember that poem from when we were little?" Pieck quietly says, when it's dark enough for the lights in the house to come on. "In that book about the Eldian Empire, there used to be a short poem about the–"

"Cycle of life," Annie recalls, memories from her childhood creeping in. 

"You remember?"

"A little," Annie frowns, trying to recall the words. "My father didn't keep any of those books but I heard other kids being taught it."

"I think it went like…" Pieck tilts her head in concentration. "In life, there is no true beginning, nor a true end. The earth is your home, before your birth–"

Annie chimes in. "–and after your death."

"Our hearts beat in the womb of the world–"

"–our breath burns in the shallows of the deep."

"The earth gives, and the earth takes–"

"–matter connects all things."

"From life to death–"

"–from darkness to light."

Pieck's head falls on Annie's shoulder, as her fingers gently pat the mound of dirt, and they sit like that for a long, long time, under the newly born night sky. 

"Ugh," Annie grumbles in bed. It's four in the morning and she's awake, body itching to go for the usual walk, but she can't, she doesn't, of course. Her routine is fucked and she has nobody to blame but herself. It's always a walk, then a snack, then a nap, then breakfast – but she can no longer follow it the way she wants to because she's dug herself into her own grave with fear. 

Fear of maybe not seeing Aoife anymore under the tree and the implications of what that would mean. 

And fear of seeing Aoife under the tree and taking up her offer, only to relive some of her worst memories from her childhood. 

The nagging persists. 

Cursing under her breath, she sits up and stares at her glass of water. Empty, no surprise. So she swings her legs over the bed, picks up the glass, and goes downstairs. 

The kitchen is lit and her heart skips as many beats as she skips several steps in her haste to reach flat ground. And she's right. Armin is up, making a cup of coffee for himself, his back turned to her. 

She takes in his wrinkly clothes and severe bedhead with a soft smile but her efforts to maybe surprise him with a hug are shot down immediately when the floorboards creak under her weight and he whirls around. 

"Annie," His voice is thick with sleep. "Morning."

"Morning," She replies, trying not to show in her voice how much she's missed him, walking toward the counter where he removes the flask of boiling water from the stove. "Why the coffee?" 

He rubs the sleep from his groggy eyes. "The Minister of External Affairs will be present in today's meeting and I wanted to read up on some documents beforehand. So I don't look like an idiot." He chuckles in light embarrassment. Annie frowns. 

"Stop that. You're not an idiot."

"Well, someone who doesn't know what they're talking about, then." Armin nods. “I’m still new to all of this, it’s going to take a while to get used to it.”

Annie says nothing to that, leaning her back against the counter, watching him with folded arms. But he glances at her and with a smile, abandons the coffee.

“Since you’re here,” He says, pulling open the cupboard over his head and reaching into it. “Why don’t we have our secret drink?” He takes out the jar of cocoa powder with a flourish.

“That’s the wrong drink for summer,” She replies dryly, but he just grins.

“We’ll make it cold. There’s ice in the icebox.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “Problem solved.”

Annie rolls her eyes and watches him make their cold chocolate drink, observing the way his fingers hold the spoon heaped with cocoa, the way his wrist rotates as he mixes it into the cold milk, and then upwards, where his shoulders still hold sleep in them, and his tired face. He looks exhausted and Annie can’t find it in herself to be irritated with him when he’s trying his best.

“Done,” Armin declares happily and notices her staring. His eyes soften. He takes two steps back and holds his arms wide open and she can’t help her smile when she walks into his warm embrace. His arms tighten behind her back and she hugs him with all of her strength. All of her tension immediately washes away because he holds her like he’d never let her go, with all of the love he can possibly give her.

“God, I’ve missed you,” He whispers into her hair. Annie pushes her nose into the crook of his neck on tiptoes and inhales his scent in lungfuls. They couldn’t be closer if they wanted to, there’s no space between them to fill. 

Just like her heart that has no more space for anyone else but him.

“And whose fault is that?” She mumbles, hoping he’ll take it as the joke she intended and is relieved when she feels him smile.

“Sorry,” He blows warm air into her ears, planting sweet kisses down her jaw. “This treaty work is hectic but it’ll be over soon and then I’ll be free.”

“Mhmm.” She hums, amping up the strength in her arms around his chest and he yelps, laughing.

“You’re going to crack my ribs!”

“You deserve that.”

“Really? You’re going to kill me before I can take you out on a date this Sunday?”

She pulls away with narrowed eyes and a blush and finds him struggling to suppress a grin. “Sunday?”

Armin nods, that smile she loves so much spreading across his face. “Sunday. We can go somewhere. Maybe to the hill beyond this one? Do some exploring. Have lunch outside. Sounds good?”

Good? It sounds fucking fantastic , Annie thinks, but she shows none of it. “Hm. Good.”

“Alright,” He whispers, leaning close for a kiss. “It’s a promise.” And she kisses him back deeply when his lips capture hers. His fingers slide up her shirt to circle her ribcage and she digs her own into his shoulders when his tongue licks hers. It’s easy to lose herself to his touches and kisses like this; when he’s so close she can’t smell or think of anything but him, when he’s got her pressed so close to his body she nearly melts, when his eyelashes tickle her cheekbones with every tilt of his head to kiss her harder – it’s so easy to forget the voices in her head nagging and worrying about all the things she is and isn’t doing. 

Armin pulls away with a sweet peck on the nose, panting slightly, and she keeps his nose against hers until they catch their breath. She returns his peck with a kiss on his philtrum and he smiles wide and beautifully. 

“I really am sorry,” He begins another bout of apology and she stops him with a finger to his lips before he makes it any worse.

“It’s fine. I’m not angry,” Annie says truthfully, because she really isn’t. She can’t be, when he’s showering her with affection like this.

He searches her eyes and not finding any lies within, relaxes his shoulders. “Alright. I’ll make it up to you on Sunday anyway.”

Annie sighs because he’s going to put it that way no matter what she says. She picks up her mug of cold chocolate and he does the same, both of them settling for leaning side by side against the counter. She takes a sip and the creamy chocolate chills her throat deliciously. 

"How is it going?" 

"It's going well. There's two peace treaties being drawn up; one between us and the Government of Kald and the second between Paradis and Kald."

"Paradis? Won't Historia have to sign that?"

"Yeah. We'll send it to her."

Annie takes a peek at his profile as he takes a long sip. "Are you sure she'll sign it?"

Armin shrugs. "She has no reason not to. There's no unfavourable terms in it."

"You sound hopeful."

He chuckles. "I am."

She moves closer to him, close enough that their shoulders touch and the sides of their hips press into each other. Armin places an arm across her back, palm flat on the surface of the counter on her other side and she leans her weight against it. The kitchen is dim and private and she wishes this moment would last forever, that the sun won’t rise, that he won’t have to rush off after breakfast once again. If he’d just stay with her like this, she can drown out all the unwanted thoughts in her head.

"How are you so optimistic?" She muses softly. The question is more for herself than for him but Armin humours her. 

"I don't know," Armin breathes. "I… don't really know how not to be, I suppose. Although I’d say that with all this hope comes an equal amount of anxiety."

Her drink finishes and her head comes to rest on his shoulder. She feels him place a kiss on the crown of her head and Annie thinks – he's a good person, not just to her, but to everyone. And he's always going to be a good person.

Is she a good person? Will she still be a good person to him if he learned that she turned down an abused child's plea for help?

Will she be a good person to anybody other than him?

"Hey,"

"Hmm?"

"All the deaths you caused," She begins, and feels his body go still. "How will you ever make up for them?" 

There's silence, but it's not stifling or uncomfortable; when she glances at his face, she sees him staring off into the distance, thinking. 

He answers eventually. "I can't. I won't ever be able to."

"Then… why are you trying so hard to fix the world?" She asks. "Is it only because Eren told you to? Or because you feel like…" She trails off, unable to finds the proper words, but he waits patiently. "Like you'll be repenting for your sins?"

Armin considers her words carefully before speaking. "I'll admit, part of the reason is because Eren told me to. But… you remember what I wrote in the letter I gave you?" He turns his head to look at her. 

The letter. Annie has read it almost a hundred times by now, she practically knows it like the back of her hand. But Armin continues when she nods. 

"Because I'm alive. Because my heart is still beating with blood, and my lungs are still expanding with oxygen. Because my–"

"–legs can still take you to the ends of the Earth, and your fingers can still help people forge treaties of peace." Annie finishes, because of course she knows it by heart, and he smiles warmly at her. 

"Yeah. My sins will remain sins, and I can't ever undo them, no matter how much good I do in this lifetime. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't do any good at all."

Annie leans into his palm that cups her cheek when he bends down to press his forehead on hers. 

"Do you have your answer?" He murmurs. 

Yes, but also no, she wants to say. There's still the question of reliving nightmarish times when the painful nights were too long and excruciating days were longer. 

Didn't she have the freedom to choose? Whether she wanted to relive them or not?

"What if… what if I just want to live quietly?" She whispers. "Quietly and peacefully?"

Armin's eyes are shut but he smiles softly. "Nobody will blame you for that, Annie."

No, nobody can, she supposes. It’s her life after all. For once, it’s her own life. 

"You can just be yourself. That's fine."

And that's the problem isn't it? Who is she, really? Apart from loving Armin, who is she?

Who is Annie? 

His kiss on the corner of her lips is curious, questioning, and she can sense he wants to know what's wrong, what's bothering her, and if he can help. But as it turns out, this might very well be something she has to find out on her own.

So she kisses him square on the mouth and tells him without words that she's alright, and she'll figure it out. He tells her to ask him for help if it becomes too much, and she agrees. He tells her he loves her and he wants her to be happy. All this without uttering a single sound and only possible because her heart is shaped like Armin with no more room to spare. 

Or so she thinks.

Chapter Text

The lights in the cottage go out in time for the first rays of pink sunrise to flood through the open windows. The smell of soup cooking on the stove fills every small room inside. The roof thatched with grass keeps the cottage cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Annie arranges the clothes in the compact wooden cupboard before shutting it closed. She doesn’t need the warm oversized shirts anymore, and had offered them to her father for when the weather got cold again. He’d accepted when she pointed out that he could save the money for something more important when the time came. 

“Alright, I’ve put them away,” She calls into the kitchen on her way out. “I’m leaving now.”

“Don’t want any breakfast?” Her father hobbles out of the tiny pantry with a loaf of fresh bread. “It’s almost done.”

A hand on the doorknob, Annie looks at her father for a long moment. He looks much the same as when she left for Paradis. She lets her eyes start from his feet upward. The same shoes. They’d dug into her back, many times. The same legs; one fine, one ruined – by her. The same torso, once full of anger and purpose, now quieter and slightly bent. The same arms that had clothed her, fed her, measured her height, smacked her on the face, beaten her, grabbed her shoulders so hard she’d carried the bruises for several long months, and then hugged her on the last day. The same face that she’d grown accustomed to seeing drawn with rage and fury most of the time. Once, it had broken into softness with the tears he’d cried for her, but now, it’s lined with crows feet and soft creases she’s certain will only grow into hard wrinkles in future. Jet black hair has begun to give way to two or three strands of white. 

He’s the same, but also different. 

“Well?” He prompts her. “It’s spicy potato soup. You used to like that.”

Annie waits a beat too long before summoning something akin to a smile. “It’s too early. I’m not hungry. Go ahead and eat.”

He shrugs, shuffling back to the kitchen. “Alright. Come by later.”

She nods her goodbye at his retreating back and exits the cottage, closing the door behind her. An unfamiliar door. Her memories of domestic life with her father belonged to a faraway land; a land that no longer existed. The house there had been dark, dingy and musty with the stench of mould on the ceilings, and she carried the depressing stink of despair on her wherever she went. There, every time she opened the door or closed it, she came face to face with the sneer of the sandbag poles which always seemed to tell her that no matter how hard she kicked and punched them, she'd never win. 

Spicy potato soup. You used to like it. Annie leans against the door, lost in thought. Did she really? She doesn’t know how he arrived at that conclusion.

That evening before the Warrior Selection Results were announced had been a terrible day. He’d watched her performance in the morning, and then marched away with his face darker than a thundercloud. She’d almost not wanted to go back home, but her stomach had insisted. In the dark corridor leading to the kitchen, he’d raged over how she hadn’t put her strength into it here, how she’d faltered there, how she’d been too slow in her agility – and she really hadn’t understood this assessment because she knew she’d excelled every single test. Then, several hours later when she nursed scratches and wounds on her body and the strain of pulled muscles, he’d called her to the kitchen for a supper of spicy potato soup. She was hungry, she wanted to eat well, but it was a crushing disappointment to learn that not much tasted good when the only other member in her family was disgusted with all she’d done – for him. 

The next day, she was given her death sentence in the form of the spinal fluid of the Female Titan, she was paraded around the city in a velvet-seated chariot for choosing to die before the age of thirty, and when she was returned home to her newly honoured father – a father who offered his only daughter up to Marley! Admirable indeed! – she once again, was presented with the same dish for supper. 

She hated spicy potato soup.

The sun washes her face with gentle warmth and she lets her eyes survey the scenery in front of her. 

But this… this is a different house, a different land. And she will get used to seeing her father in a brightly lit house sheltered by trees above and mountain tops in the background. When she opens and closes the door, she will get used to seeing flowers on snaking vines. She will get used to having dinners with him that taste very different and there won’t be any impending doom to mark every dish with a memory. She will get used to making new memories here. This is her new domestic life with him. 

There’s no reason to think of her childhood anymore. 

Annie’s nose catches whiffs of the scent of pine carried to her in the mild sunshine breeze. Soft morning light sends a shower of sparkles shimmering over the crystal clear body of water, and the dainty heads of small flowers dotting the grass nod their greetings to the summer sun. Several feet away, Karina Braun gathers firewood from a pile behind her cottage and stops to wave at Annie. This too, is part of her new life. The people she knew from her birth on this patch of land, the people she grew to care about deeply later on, on the other side.  

No, there’s no reason to think of her childhood anymore. She can forget about it all.

But Annie might never get used to this – the ever-present roar of the waterfalls beyond the pine forest lining the cottages far behind. Through day and night, the water pours with a gushing force strong enough to drown out the thunder from a summer storm, and she imagines it is stronger than any power that belonged to a titan. Her father had told her that the sound of the waterfalls helped him sleep well at night and his neighbours had agreed. 

Annie hadn’t understood how something that sounded so powerful, carried so much force, could possibly be a lullaby at night and rub away nightmares into soothing sleep. 

It intrigues her. It pulls her in. It calls to her. 

She wants to see the waterfalls in person herself, but not today.

Not today, because today is Sunday and she wants to rush home as fast as possible. It’s the reason she’d emptied her shelves so early in the morning to finish off the errand to her father’s cottage. The baker had told her yesterday that the hill next to theirs was home to a picturesque park, plenty of curious little shops, a museum, several restaurants and more, and she guessed that with so much to see, they might not return home until late into the night. 

Annie can’t deny she’s excited, and as if on cue, her heart does a little flip inside her chest. 

Her first date comes at the age of twenty. Ridiculous. Ridiculous but absolutely wonderful that it’s come at all. 

She peels herself off her father’s door with a delirious smile pulling her lips up and quickly makes her way to the bridge. The faster she gets back, the more time she has to take a bath and pick out something to wear that isn’t an oversized shirt and shorts. Not that she has any feminine clothes; skirts and dresses weren’t as convenient to move around in as shirts and pants so she had never bothered to buy any, but perhaps she can put together something a little less… boring. Annie chews her lips as her feet crunch over the soft grass. This is Hitch’s area of expertise, not hers, and she misses her terribly. Hitch could make a men’s undershirt look flattering on a woman’s body, even one as small as hers. She frowns. She could ask Pieck for help, of course… but she doesn’t want to rub it in her face that she’s going out on a date when Pieck only has her memories of past dates she can no longer hope to repeat. 

Well, fuck it. She’ll manage something for today and go buy a skirt later. 

She’s going on a date.

Annie climbs onto the bridge just as the hem of her shirt pulls back in a tug.

It’s the blond kid. He’s standing there, dressed lightly and barefoot on the grass and Annie’s surprised eyes linger far too long at the mud-streaked toes of his feet. When she lifts her gaze to meet his eyes, she sees that they are red, swollen and moist – he’s not crying now, but at some point he was. He lets go of her shirt and quietly fiddles with his own. 

“What is it?” Annie asks, feeling uncertain about how to deal with a distressed child. 

It takes him two seconds to find his voice, but eventually he answers. “When… when will he come here?”

Annie blinks in confusion before it clicks. “Are you asking about Armin?”

The boy nods timidly, toes restless between the blades of grass. “Will he come here today?”

She tilts her head to the side. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“I… I want to see him,” He mumbles, eyes downcast. “I think I’ll feel… better.”

Annie says nothing, wondering how to respond to this. It doesn't come as a surprise that this boy and Armin are close, and she recalls the day they cried by the lake in each other’s arms. They seem to have forged some special connection between them during their brief time together and it’s clear to her now that it runs deep. So deep that, in a time of despair and pain, the boy wants to seek out Armin’s presence to find relief. 

Well, she understands that. 

“I don’t know when he’s coming here,” She says. “But you can go to him.”

The boy glances up nervously. “Go to him? I– I don’t know how to–”

Annie shrugs. “I’m going home. You can follow me, if you want.”

He considers her words for a long minute, fingers twisting and turning at the ends of his shirt until the fabric wrinkles permanently. She wonders what kind of bond he shares with Armin. "Okay." He says finally with a determined expression that reminds her of a younger Armin getting prepared to do something intimidating. 

She jerks her chin at his bare feet. "Go get your shoes." And the boy turns on his heels, racing toward a set of cottages into which he disappears, reappearing a second later with equally muddy shoes on his feet, rushing back just in time to catch up to Annie’s steady footfalls on the wooden planks of the bridge.

They walk in silence, two figures dyed rose-gold in the light of the sunrise. The roar of the waterfalls behind them grows quieter, fading into the distance with each step forward. Annie throws a quick look at the subdued boy beside her, his smaller feet struggling to keep up with her quick pace, so she slows down, just a bit. He says nothing to her, keeping his head down and Annie wonders how long he was crying, judging by the tear stains running down his cheeks. She wants to find out, she wants to know – all about his relationship with Armin, but those aren’t questions she feels she can ask. Not yet, anyway.

But there are other questions she can ask. “Why weren’t you wearing shoes?” For example, breaking the silence. 

The boy lifts his head and blinks puffy eyelids. “I– um– I was awake. And I saw you coming an hour ago, through my window. I waited until you came out of your house and I uh– I ran to catch you, before you left.”

“Hm.” Annie thinks it's a safe assumption to make – he’s been awake for a considerably long time, crying. He’s an orphan. Perhaps he was missing his parents. 

She sighs. 

“What’s your name?”

“Asa.”

The white chalk line bisecting the bridge in half comes into view and Annie crosses it, the boy only a step behind. She notes with interest that it’s been drawn over thickly, several times. Since when? She hadn’t noticed it on her morning walks. So that means–

Oh. Annie stiffens. It’s been two weeks since then and she’s been doing a decent job of keeping the voice in her head from nagging at her. 

It’s been two weeks.

“Every time it fades, someone fixes it,” Asa says, noticing her expression. “That storm washed it away the first time. But the old man back there fixed it the next day. They like crossing it.” He looks over his shoulder at it. “I like crossing it too.”

Annie says nothing, although she understands the sentiment. 

He continues. “I like him too.” 

It only serves to pique her curiosity even further. “What do you like about him?” She asks, with a sidelong glance.

Asa’s tight cheeks slowly expand in a smile. “He’s really kind.”

True. He was kind, sometimes a bit too much, and it didn’t always help his interests. She nods in agreement nevertheless. “And?”

“He’s very gentle.”

True, he was. She nods again encouragingly, and Asa’s smile grows, looking lighter in spirit.

“I like being around him.”

Who didn’t? Annie raises her eyebrows, prompting him to go on. They step off the bridge on the other side. 

“He never teases anyone.”

At this, Annie narrows her eyes. Not true.

“Not always true,” She mutters under her breath, although she says it only because all she can think about is how much Armin likes to watch her get flustered and red in the face. No, he enjoys teasing her. A part of her hates being seen like that, but a bigger part of her loves it and always wants more. It should suck how much she goes weak at the knees whenever he gives her that grin and leaves her hanging on edge… but with him, she’ll succumb to every word, whim and fancy and she knows it. 

Annie coughs, a little pink on the cheeks. This is not what she should be thinking of in the presence of a kid, damnit.  

“What?” Asa’s eyes go wide. “You’re lying.”

That pisses her off. “I’m not lying.” She shoots back. “Sometimes, he’s not that nice . ”

Now it’s Asa’s turn to narrow his eyes at her. “I bet you don’t know him very well.” 

Annie stares at him, flabbergasted. “And you do? Kid, I know him better than you.”

“Hmph.” He turns away, fixing his gaze resolutely on the hill they climb slowly and Annie glares at him, feeling stupid for having this silly argument with this little boy in the first place. God, what is she becoming? 

Ah, of course. 

She’s growing into a new life and reality, that’s it. 

Her old life is a relic of the past. It was a sensible decision to leave it behind. 

And yet, as they cross the alleyway to the birch tree that’s now flooding with daylight, her head automatically turns to the sight of emptiness, isolation and loneliness. There’s nobody there, waiting for her. 

They approach their house and Asa grows quiet once again, fumbling with his buttons, and taking to hiding behind her in his apprehension. 

“Wait here? I’ll go get him for you.” Annie tells him and he nods with wide blue eyes that she notes are obviously excited but also nervous at the prospect of seeing Armin again. Amused, she lifts a hand to the doorknob, but the heavy wooden door swings open before she even touches it. 

Her smile transforms into lips parted in surprise. 

Armin, hurriedly yanking on his socks with one hand, fully dressed, shirt neatly tucked into his pants and a brown envelope of documents in his other hand. He looks like he's just rolled out of bed in a frenzy, eyes still ridden with sleep and very, very tired. 

Annie blinks in shock and Armin does the same, barely grabbing onto the door frame to prevent from colliding headfirst into her. 

"Annie? You were still out?" He asks, shoving his feet into his shoes. “I thought you were taking your nap.” He doesn’t know she hasn’t been going on her walks.

She looks at him with dismay. “Where are you going?” 

“I just got word that the press release has been drafted. They want me to take a look before it's sent out." Armin smiles apologetically. “We're announcing to the world that we're here now." 

But it's Sunday, Annie wants to say – instead she continues to look at him with growing disappointment. "But you're the Commander," She points out. "Can't you just… tell them to put it off until tomorrow?"

Armin shakes his head tiredly. "The postal ship leaves at noon and it has to be sent along with it. Fuel is scarce, the ships have to travel efficiently."

Her spirits plummet. Seeing her crestfallen face, his shoulders slump. "I'm sorry. But I'll be back by early afternoon. We can still go out, okay?" He leans closer for a kiss, but Annie takes a step back, feeling the tug of a small hand on the back of her shirt. 

"I brought you a guest." She mumbles, and Armin's surprised eyes drop down to see Asa behind her. "He wanted to see you." 

"Asa?" He says, cocking his head with a wide smile as the small boy emerges in front shyly. "Hey. What brings you here?" 

Asa says nothing but he hangs his head, fingers twisting in his shirt once again, and all is quiet until they hear a sniffle and a large, heavy teardrop falls on his shoe. 

"Hey," Armin's voice drops to a whisper and he crouches down on a knee, the envelope falling out of his hands. Annie watches as his large palms cradle small cheeks gently – so, so gently – and lifts his face up. With eyes soft and comforting, Armin shakes his head as if to say no, no, it’s alright, while his thumbs wipe away the fast rolling tears until they stop.

"I'm sorry," Asa mumbles between sniffles and a blocked nose. "I just wanted… to see you."

"Yeah," Armin whispers. "It's alright. I'm here."

Two pairs of eyes, both brought up to see the world very differently, gaze at each other and in the silence that lasts several long minutes, Annie hears a hundred words spoken and feels a thousand emotions exchanged. It takes her by surprise. No… this connection is deeper than she could ever have imagined. It's not that of just a child seeing Armin as a nice person. It's much more. 

Annie doesn't know why, but tears prick at the corners of her own eyes and blinks them away furiously. She watches the two like an outsider, feeling disconnected and too far away, but also very touched with a warmth blossoming in her chest that she doesn’t understand.

When the sniffles stop and cheeks are dry once again, Armin rubs Asa's small nose. "Want to go to the lake? Skip stones maybe?"

Asa nods eagerly. "Yeah."

Oh, well then. There goes their date entirely. 

"Yeah?" Armin's smile is soft. He ruffles the boy's hair and receives a giggle, which he looks relieved by. When he rises to his feet, picking up his documents, Annie struggles to keep her face looking nonchalant because to show any further disappointment would hurt him. Besides, he doesn't need to know how she feels irrationally dejected over losing her time with him to a small child who probably needed Armin more than her at the moment – and she feels like a criminal for feeling this way in the first place. 

Armin finds her eyes and his eyebrows slant in deeper apologies. "Annie…"

"It's fine," She says lightly, avoiding his eyes. "He needs you."

But of course, he knows it’s not fine. The tilt of his head as he studies her face tells her that all her feelings of disappointment are evident despite her efforts. 

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, stepping closer, but this time, his free hand curls around the side of her waist and keeps her from moving away. 

"We'll just go on another day," She says with a carefree shrug, hoping to god that her voice doesn't betray her ugly feelings of rejection and dismay. Armin offers her a soft smile before leaning into the side of her face and her breath easily hitches. 

"I'll make it up to you?" He whispers into her ear. "Tonight?"

Fucking hell! Her face turns every shade of red imaginable, and her body stiffens all over and Armin's quiet laugh fans the shell of her ear. He has the audacity to chuckle at the expense of ditching her – their! – date and then take pleasure in her embarrassment–

– at their front door, in full view of any passers by –

– and they're not even alone!

"Give me a kiss?" He says, pulling away slightly and her irritation flares up when she sees that the twinkle of mirth dancing in his tired but vivid blue eyes is not without all of his love for her, there, on full display. He leans down but she swats at his shoulder, making him stop short and raise his eyebrows.

"There's a kid here!" Annie hisses, mortified and annoyed.

Armin holds her gaze when his smile grows into that teasing grin and her stomach does somersaults. Goddamnit. Really? She glares at him as fiercely as possible, but he’s unfazed. 

Not taking his eyes off her, he says, "Asa, mind looking away for a minute?"

Her heartbeat races when she hears the scraping shuffle of a pair of shoes on the wooden verandah and the next second she knows, Armin's lips are pressed firmly on hers and her eyes fall closed without any effort. His fingertips dig into her side through her shirt and Annie's lips tingle from the insistent and delicious pressure of his. But it's gone too fast and too soon when he backs away, and she has to blink multiple times to get rid of the stars clouding her vision. 

"Tonight. I promise." He murmurs and Annie notes dazedly that the blush on his cheeks doesn't match his questionable actions one bit. She manages to find a shred of public propriety and swats at him again, highly flustered. Armin laughs, and easily wrangles a reluctant and embarrassed chuckle out of her lips as well. 

"Okay I'm off." He squeezes her waist affectionately and she yelps, almost sending him to the ground but he's moving away, taking Asa's hand in his and leading him onto the grassy earth of their garden. Pulled by the sight of the two boys, hand in hand, Annie follows them, one step behind. 

"I have something to take care of right now," Armin tells Asa. "We'll go to the lake in the afternoon okay?"

"Okay." Asa chirps, sounding considerably more upbeat. 

"Hmm, what will you do until then?" Armin muses, his fingers gentle yet firm around Asa's wrist. "Oh, right, the woodworker is having a workshop. Why don't you go learn to make something?" 

"Like what?" 

"Anything," Armin says with a smile. "It'll take your mind off things until I'm back." 

"Okay." Asa agrees readily. 

They cross the threshold of their garden and turn onto the street and Annie comes to a stop. Hands folded across her chest, she watches with a confusing multitude of feelings battling in her chest for her attention.

"Tell me what you've been doing all these days?" Armin asks and Asa smiles, starting to chatter away. The distance between Annie and them increases and she feels… confused. 

Two heads of identical blond hair glinting in the sunlight, striding down the street with laughter spilling from their mouths. Armin turns back, seeing Annie watching them and lifts his hand in a wave. He tugs at Asa's wrist and the small boy turns around and lifts his arm high into the sky. 

"Bye Annie!" Asa yells, waving animatedly, and Armin laughs in delight. Annie's chest squeezes tightly and she feels the warmth in her chest spreading all through her body. She lifts her hand in a soft wave, and satisfied, they turn back and continue on their way. 

Two boys, hand in hand, on their way to someplace she’s not yet a part of. 

Two boys, one hers, and one his. 

After a lunch that Annie turns like damp cardboard in her mouth, tasting bland and devoid of any flavour whatsoever, she stays in the kitchen, slumped in her chair. She’s got a bulb of garlic in her hands and she turns it over idly, the papery skin flaking off in bits and pieces with each rotation. She feels lacklustre in every respect – as a partner, a former soldier, a girl, a woman, a sister, a person, a human being.

There’s no breeze to cool her hot skin today and she squirms in the humidity that makes her clothes stick to her uncomfortably. 

Annie isn’t like any of the others. 

She glances at Jean sprawled on the floor some feet away, with the cuffs of his pants rolled up and shirt half open. Jean was a good person. Unlike her, he hadn’t given into his selfish desire to join the Military Police and had followed Eren to the Survey Corps instead. He’d grown into a great leader, was kind to brainwashed children and had a strong sense of right and wrong. Jean was a good person.

“I see you glaring at me,” He says lazily, cracking an eye open. “What did I do?”

“I’m not, and go back to sleep.” Annie retorts, fixing her glare on the next person. Connie. 

Slumped on the chair opposite her, head down on the table, Connie, too, was a good person. A bit of a dolt, but sincere at heart. He’d saved her life and treated her with kindness and it was more than she could’ve asked of him. Of anyone, really. She hadn’t expected him to be so casual and outgoing with her after she broke from the crystal, but there it was; on their horse-ride back to the others, he’d thrown a water bag at her and told her to drink up. Connie was a good person.

“Annie,” He groans, lifting his head to place a cheek flat on the table’s surface. “It’s too hot. Don’t burn lasers into my head.”

“What’s with you?” Jean turns on his side, propping his head up on a hand. “You’ve been moping around lately and it isn’t like you.”

Annie frowns deeply in exasperation and rises from the chair, reaching to pull a cold mango from the ice-box. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, wait, I get it,” Connie chuckles, eyeing her biting into the sweet flesh of the mango, skin and all. “You’re missing Armin.”

Annie colours slightly and turns away, facing the open window. “Shut up. And no.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Jean sighs, a broad smile spreading across his face. “It’s written all over your face.”

“You’re terrible at reading faces then,” Annie says with a mouthful of mango pulp. Mango tastes good. It’s become her favourite fruit. This summer, Annie has found out she likes mango in all forms and shapes – in its whole fruit form, sliced, juiced, frozen… but most of all, in small chunks, sun-dried and sprinkled with sugar, like the ones she’d eaten two weeks ago under the–

No. No.

Jean swishes his lips around, his light gold eyes carefully studying her face from where he’s lying on the floor. “We’re sorry. He’s so busy.”

Annie whirls her head around in annoyance. “Why are you saying sorry?”

He shrugs, shifting slightly. “Well, he isn’t around to spend time with you and all. You’re… lonely.”

She scoffs, looking incredulous to avoid displaying her true emotions on the surface of her face. If they can read her this easily, she’s best off not looking at them. 

Connie coughs from the table. “He goes overboard. He’s always going overboard. Working himself to the bone.”

“It’s not all his fault,” Jean replies. “The government officials are giving him deadlines left and right and he’s doing his best to abide.”

“He can put his foot down sometimes. He’s our Commander, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“But he looks exhausted. Did you see him last night? I stayed up to make sure he ate dinner and he fell asleep right there–” Annie’s heart lurches forward in a wave of anxiety. Goddamnit. Free from the power of the titans and he’s already on the highway to ruin his health. Goddamnit. And why hadn’t she just stayed up for him? She should’ve done that. She should’ve made sure he ate dinner. She should’ve made sure he slept properly on his bed and not the kitchen table.

But she didn’t do anything. She’s not like the others. She’s not… a good person. 

She’s just a selfish coward. 

“Yeah, but Connie,” Jean sighs. “He probably doesn’t want to begin making demands right now. We’re still in a foreign country, and I think he’s trying to ensure our continued stay here first. He’s playing it safe.”

Connie groans, pushing away from the table. “He’s going to burn out.”

The sweet flesh of the mango in her mouth now tastes sour. Annie finishes the fruit off with great effort because while she would’ve liked to chuck it into the waste bin, food can’t afford to be wasted in this shrunken world. She washes the plate and her hands and quietly leans against the sink, arms folded and hugging herself.

The ring feels too tight on her finger. 

“It’s been two hours since Reiner was called,” Connie wonders aloud. “I wonder if everything is okay.”

Reiner. Reiner too was a good person. A warrior sent to execute the island like her, but his true nature – that of a boy no different from the others on Paradis – easily took over his bloody responsibilities. Very quickly, he’d become the big brother of the 104th and then, a Scout, carrying the Wings of Freedom proud on his back. She’d watched it happen, and she’d been frightened. And then Annie had understood – it was because deep inside, he was always a good person. 

“Armin sent for him because he wanted his opinion,” Jean says, going back to lying flat on his back. “Though once the announcement reaches the other nations, I cannot wait to be hounded by the press. Sounds fun.”

Connie grins. “Liar. I bet you’re excited to have your photo in the newspapers.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong if you wanted to.”

“Actually, I think he’s right,” A mild voice sings from the staircase and Pieck emerges into the kitchen, dressed in a skirt and blouse. “You’re an attention hog, Jean.”

“A what now?” Jean snaps, sitting up and glaring at Pieck. “Don’t you ever have anything nice to say about me?”

“Oh I do,” Pieck throws him a lazy smile and Annie doesn’t miss the way Jean’s cheeks grow a little pink. “Anyway, Annie? I’m going shopping. Want to come?

That sounds instantly better than staying here and mooning around the house like this, chewing herself up over several things she can’t seem to find the answer to. “Yeah,” She says, peeling her back off the counter. “I’ll come.”

“You’re going out now? In this heat?” Connie asks, sounding baffled.

“What do you need to buy?” Jean lets his forearms dangle from his knees and looks curiously at the both girls. 

“A diary,” Pieck replies, putting on a hat left in the sitting room. 

“Whatever for?”

She grins mischievously and leans down close to Jean’s face. “To write all the nice things about you.” Her fingers tickle under his chin like a cat and he shrinks back, sputtering for words and bright red in the face. “Come on Annie.” She calls and with a wink at him, links her arms with Annie and drags her out of the house and into the hot sun.

The last minute decision to grab a hat from the foyer was a good one, and Annie’s thankful the heat had left that part of her brain intact and sane enough to make it. It’s hot, and ten minutes of walking has soaked her shirt on the back. She’s arm in arm with Pieck and it’s uncomfortable; sweat pools at the crook of her elbow where Pieck’s got her hooked securely, but she doesn’t have the heart to pull away. Annie glances at her out of the corner of her eyes. 

Pieck… a good person. She’d never believed Marley’s propaganda and racist bullshit. At the same time, she’d been loyal, brave and true to her friends, comrades, and fellow soldiers and was always fair and non-judgemental. Pieck did not hold grudges out of hatred. Pieck did not have a single sadistic bone in her body. Pieck… was a good person. 

The streets are strangely bustling with activity and not the kind she usually sees; they aren’t pedestrians, bargaining and buying their necessities. No, today there are carts and wagons lined up on either side of the pavement, filled to the brim with assorted items she’s unable to discern without peering into them; step ladders propped up by the foot of the streetlamps with men perched on top, stringing ropes around the light bulbs. In other places where the tree branches hang low, women are up on low stools, twirling brightly coloured paper ribbons and tiny wired lights around the feathery foliage. 

“Oh my,” Pieck wonders aloud, looking this way and that, the same way Annie does. “I wonder what’s happening.” 

“Looks like an occasion of some sort,” Annie hums. As they pass by the bakers whose windows are newly plastered with colourful posters, someone yells from down the street and hearty laughter fills the air. Three young boys race past them with a wagon containing something white and round and both girls stare in wonder at the raucous mood and high spirits swelling in the atmosphere this afternoon.

When they arrive at the stationery store, the scent of new books and paper invades Annie’s nostrils and she looks warily at the bundles of paper stacked to the ceilings. 

“Hello, I’m looking to buy a diary,” Pieck greets the lady behind a tall stack of blank canvases and steps into the store. While she busies herself with picking and choosing, Annie looks around at the piles and piles of stationery littered around the shop in organised chaos. Her fingers flutter over a particularly eye-catching bundle of letter paper, coloured beige and buttery smooth to the touch. She recognizes it as the same paper using which she wrote letters to Hitch and Mikasa. 

Both of them, too, were good people. 

Mikasa had always been decent toward her, unfazed by Annie’s resting bitch face and ice-cold exterior that always put everyone else off. Once a sworn enemy by choices made under pressure and later, a friend. Mikasa didn’t hate the world enough to condone Eren’s actions. She’d only wanted to protect her little family of three. At heart, Mikasa was always a good person. 

And Hitch? She had once looked at Annie with disdain, in their shared room in Stohess. And yet… Annie had been surprised to hear her voice one day, in the dark, cold dungeon that she couldn’t see, but feel. Hitch had chosen to be by her side, chosen to believe her, chosen to remain her friend. She had kept her company for hours on end, talking about the boys she’d been with and complaining about their various shortcomings. Had Annie been able to blush inside her crystal, she very well would have. Hitch had emptied her pockets for the pie Annie had stuffed into her face four years later. Hitch was a good person.

What would they think, if they knew what she’d done?

Or rather, what she hadn’t done?

All these people would be ashamed of her selfish refusal to help a child’s desperate pleas for help. 

Annie was never a good person, and she would never be one. No, any time that she could’ve used to be good has already expired. 

It’s too late now. 

The ring is too tight on her finger and she feels terrible. 

“Annie, come take a look,” Pieck calls from the front, and dully, Annie forces her feet to move towards her. Pieck’s holding up two diaries, one brown and one green and looks at her expectantly. “So? Do these look nice?”

Annie shrugs, misery preventing her lips from curling into a smile. “They look fine.”

Pieck sighs. “What’s with that response? Which one do you like better?”

Annie eyes the two diaries with little to no interest, barely noticing the thick cardboard covers and off-white pages inside. Carelessly, she nods at the one on the right. “The green one.”

“Alright. That’s yours then. I’ll take the brown.” Pieck smiles, satisfied, and hands them over to the lady to wrap up. “We’ll take these two.”

“Wait, what?” Annie blinks, her reactions sluggish, both from the heat and disappointment brewing within her. “Pieck, I don’t need one.”

Pieck looks at her calmly, dark brown eyes roving over her face. The crinkle of thin wrapping paper is the only sound in this sleepy shop, serene and quiet, cut off from the cacophony outside on the street. Annie feels uncomfortable, like she’s being studied. 

“You look like you need one, Annie.”

“What?”

“You look like you need a diary.” A hand pats her on the shoulder reassuringly. “Maybe if you write it all down, you’ll be able to find some comfort.”

Again.

Annie doesn’t fight her because she doesn’t find the energy to. She says nothing and gives in, watching Pieck pay for the books with anxiety welling up inside her throat. Yet once again, she’s being consoled by the one person who’s lost a great deal more than just a lover and somehow, remains cheerful and upbeat through her sorrow. Once again, Annie has proven that she’s incapable of making decisions on her own. Decisions that involve the heart.

“Thank you,” Pieck tells the store lady with a smile. “By the way, what’s happening outside? Is there an occasion coming up?”

“Oh dear,” The lady laughs. “Why, it’s for the Firefly Festival next week, of course!”

“The firefly festival?”

“Ah, it’s when we celebrate the start of summer,” She explains with a bright smile. “Summer is the season that brings the most happiness. And we celebrate the start of summer with a three day festival. There are sales, and special discounts, food stalls and games to play.  It’s a lot of fun,” She nods encouragingly. “Of course, it lasts three days, but the first night is the most important. The fireflies come out for the first time in the season to grace us with their beautiful presence and we gather at the lake with rice wine to watch them.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Pieck replies, eyes wide, and turning to glance at Annie to share her feeling of wonder. 

Annie doesn’t feel very much better. Armin probably wouldn’t be able to attend and enjoy it. He’ll be drowning in work. Pieck picks up on her lack of enthusiasm and turns back to face the lady. 

“Um… are the three days a holiday?” She asks. 

“Of course! The shops remain open obviously, but all else is closed. Even government offices.”

Her spirits lift. Just a bit. 

Pieck turns back to Annie, eyes looking bright. She nudges her in the ribs. “See! He’ll be home.”

The lady looks between the both of them and brings her hand to her mouth to hide a smile. “There’s an ancient myth about the festival. Legend says that if you watch the fireflies with a loved one on the first night, and spend time together under the glimmering lights, you’ll have a long, steady and happy life with them.”

A spark of hope. Tiny.

“Oh?” Pieck tilts her head with a smile. “Does it come true?”

“Well, I don’t know,” The lady laughs. “But it doesn’t hurt to believe.”

She nods at them with a twinkle in her eye. “If you two ladies have any young men you like, this is the night to spend with them. Sit by the lake, drink some wine, and watch the fireflies.”

Huh. Annie toes the wooden floorboards, feeling a little giddy and light. What a silly tale. And how stupid, all of it. She’s not some teenage girl who feels dizzy over the prospect of spending one particular night with a boy simply because it’s associated with an ancient legend said to make dreams come true. 

And yet, as she avoids Pieck’s knowing eyes on her, she can’t help but feel exactly like that. 

On their way back home however, any spark of hope quickly plummets down to the earth and into oblivion. Annie barely notices the white ball-shaped paper lanterns strung from lamppost to lamppost. She hardly sees the red and gold silk banners flying from masts erected high above the awnings of several shops. She doesn’t hear the excited calls of men and women on the street, sharing plans for this year's summer festival. She doesn’t feel the whizz of giggling children racing down the pathway, even in this heat, paper streamers and ribbons flying from their arms and heads. She doesn’t see the new tables and display shelves being constructed at the storefronts in preparation to host the food stalls. 

Annie sees none of this because looming in her ever-darkening chest is a small ball of fear, rapidly growing into panic. It’s not new, she’s been feeling it and ignoring its existence over the past few days – the existence of a black dread, spreading over her limbs.

Dread, because there’s no tray of candies floating between the busy bodies in the market. 

Dread, because Aoife is nowhere to be seen. 

Night falls, dinner is had, and the house goes to sleep. But Armin doesn’t come home and neither does 'Tonight, I promise'.

Annie sits on the dark steps of the stairs to the second floor, hidden from sight. Elbows on her knees and chin tucked into her forearms, she waits for his footsteps to echo along the boys’ corridor. The dim starlight from the windows on the landing above her isn’t enough to throw her shadow below the stairs. Annie’s shrouded in black darkness, both on the outside, and on the inside. 

She feels cold, and the ring threatens to break her finger bone. 

Why hadn’t Aoife been at the market today, selling her candies as usual? Annie hadn’t expected the absence of silver-blonde hair to alarm her so much, but here she is. Drowning in fear, distress, panic and worry.

How can all these feelings belong in her heart; in her heart with no room… unless… they’ve already occupied space before, but in some other form?

This realisation doesn't nearly surprise her as much as it should've, but it also doesn't do much to cushion the queasy feeling in her stomach that something terrible has happened. 

Because of her. Because of Annie, who's never really going to be good, because even now, she's destroying lives. 

A life. 

The front door creaks open far below, and a painful breath she's been holding lets itself escape through her lips. With tense limbs and tight muscles, she listens to the faint clatter of dishes and spoons of Reiner and Armin eating a very late dinner, and over the course of fifteen minutes, she counts every clink of the spoon on porcelain. The scrape of chairs. The dull thud of dishes being placed in the sink. Slow footsteps on the stairs making the floorboards creak. 

"Goodnight, Armin." Reiner yawns and Annie can see Armin's exhausted frame leaning against his door. 

"Yeah. Sorry, Reiner." Armin's voice is lifeless. "I kept you too long."

"It's not your fault. There was a lot to look over and consider." Reiner yawns again. "But… I think you're pushing yourself too hard. Take it a little easy, why don't you?"

There's no answer except for the rustle of clothes and papers and Annie listens to it quietly. 

"I… have so much to do," Armin finally says, trying to suppress a yawn of his own. "How can I afford to relax?" 

Reiner says nothing for a minute before he clears his throat. "And Annie?"

"What about her?"

"You're not including her in any of your meetings."

Armin sighs and she sees him rake a hand through his hair. "These aren't her responsibilities. I don't want to force her to be a part of any of this."

Annie suffocates. 

"But…" And though she can't see him, she knows Reiner is rubbing his chin the way he always does when he's debating what to say. "But have you considered that maybe she wants to be a part of your life?" 

"I know that."

Reiner sighs. “Go to sleep. You look like you’re going to collapse.”

“... Yeah. Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

And when the doors close and Annie listens to silence once again, the queasy feeling in her gut that had been somewhat soothed by the sound of Armin’s voice, comes back with a raging scream. This is how it is. 

This is how it is. 

Pieck, trying to take care of herself. Armin, doing his best for the world, for Paradis, for them all, and for Annie. Everyone, looking out for her.

She runs up the stairs and into her room, and staggers back against the closed door with a racing heartbeat and wild eyes. If Armin was by her side, holding her and speaking into her ear, she would be able to forget about all the thoughts that are attacking her mind from every which direction, and just get lost in him. But he’s overworking himself for all the things she’s never been able to do, and possibly never will.

She walks to her bed with tears brimming in her stinging eyes and sinks to her knees by its side.

What is she doing? What isn't she doing?

What has she done to Aoife?

Annie hurls her pillow against the wall and muffles her crying into the sheets, tormented and tortured by conflict. 

The ring strangles her finger.

At four in the morning, Annie’s awake in bed, eyes red and swollen from crying. She’d maybe drifted off into sleep for two hours before waking again, feeling dehydrated, tired and fuzzy in the head. Everything in her body feels terrible and she lies staring at the ceiling, knowing she brought all of it on herself. Why has she always been so indecisive?

The ring no longer hurts her finger, but it’s like a guillotine around it, waiting to strangle it again. Why now, after all these years, does it torment her so much? Hadn’t accepting a lifetime of wearing it been enough? Does she need to offer something more, to placate whatever gods are punishing her like this?

She swallows into a dry mouth; her tongue feels like sandpaper and her head throbs. Slowly, she turns her head on the pillow and stares at the dresser on the right, where a drawer lies partially open, and a white string dangles out of it. She reaches in and pulls the blue drawstring pouch out.

The little red hanko inside is cold and smooth in her sweaty palm and she almost feels bad that her hands aren’t clean and dry enough to hold it. It gleams in the dim light from outside her window and she pops off the cap. His name, embossed in the hard rubber tip, feels comforting when she runs her index finger along it. Annie brings it to her lips and closes her eyes. 

When Armin isn’t there, then she has at least this. If she can’t hold him, she can at least hold this to her heart. If she can’t feel him, she can at least feel his name on her skin.

It's the one other object she now has, apart from the ring.

Feeling lightheaded, she swings her legs over the bed and gets up, putting the hanko into her pocket. She badly wants to drink some water, but that’s not her priority when she leaves the room and goes down the stairs. Her mind wants to go to the kitchen to seek some comfort in food, but her heart stops in front of his room. It’s quiet and dark, and she pushes the door open.

Armin sleeps on his side with his back turned to her, and as quietly as she can, she crosses the distance to his bed and lowers herself to sit gingerly on the edge. His steady breathing is soft and soothing on her high strung nerves and she lets herself fall into the same rhythm until she inhales and exhales along with the rise and fall of his shoulders. Annie reaches out and gently, pulls the tips of her fingers through the longer hairs on the back of his head, the contrast in texture between the silky strands and the shorter bristles of his undercut feeling nice against her skin. Armin doesn’t stir and his exhaustion makes her feel even worse.

Annie pulls her fingers away and rests her hands on her lap, feeling the hanko poking at them through her pocket. 

She notices a sheaf of papers on his dresser, arranged neatly with a pen lying on top and decides to pick them up to read. Pages and pages of handwriting – not his – fill the first ten sheets or so, and she tries to decipher them but the words are big, boring, uninteresting and she quickly gives up. Annie marvels at his ability to go through them with enough interest to retain any of this in his head. But then again, he isn’t like her – he’s clever, kind and fair. He’s busy carrying the world on his shoulders and trying to fix its problems, their problems, and her problems, all at the same time. 

… While she can barely fix her issues on her own. Annie wipes away a tear before it falls on the ink and smudges it. 

Shuffling through the papers, her tired eyes pass over pages cramped with writing until one blank sheet interrupts the bunch. The sheets afterward are all filled with Armin's handwriting. Notes from his treaty signing with Kald. Annie eases one page out and tries to read his long, spidery-thin script. 

"... The fact that Man has involved, engaged and encouraged hatred and culling of a race does not preclude him from denouncing the very same. I believe human beings are ever-changing and dynamic in spirit, ideal, and action. Just as it is possible for a warm heart to turn cold, it is also possible for a cold heart to turn warm. There should be no room in this world to feel confined by one’s past any more, for if not now, then when? 

 

… There is still time to be good."

The page flutters to her lap from trembling fingers.

Her head clears. 

Her chest lightens. 

Why hadn’t she ever thought of it that way?

Annie turns to look at him, sleeping soundly and makes up her mind. She’ll fix her issues, one by one. Face her fears, as bravely as he does, because she does not, will not, live a life with him where she’s ashamed of herself. Annie leans down to brush her lips against his temple. 

"Thank you," She whispers without a sound and then gets up to softly pad over to his door and exits it, closing it quietly. And then she runs.

Annie runs, because if not now, then when?

Slippers are carelessly stepped into. The door flies open. She's running down the street flickering with the lamp lights before she can even think of anything else. It feels good to be out here at this hour of the morning after the two weeks she'd deprived herself of it, forcefully. Out of fear. Out of doubt. But Annie knows now, as she races toward the alleyway to the birch tree, the space in her heart has always been larger than she thought it to be. 

"Fuck!" She almost trips over an uneven bump in the cobblestone paving with the heel of her slippers, but continues downward. She'll regret it, if anything were to happen to Aoife. She'll regret it for the rest of her life, and acceptance would not come easy. 

Annie darts into the alleyway and emerges on the other end where the solitary birch stands tall and wispy. With her hands on her hips and panting harshly, she sweeps her eyes over the quiet emptiness with panic rising up her chest. 

There's no Aoife. 

It shouldn't be such a shock; after all, she'd abandoned this place for fourteen days. She probably stopped coming. 

Or… something happ–

No. No, that can't be . That cannot be; Annie can't let that be the reality she has to live with. 

She raises her eyes up to regard the shuttered second story windows of the house standing higher up on the hill, beyond several others, and the balls of her feet dig into the soft earth to head over there when a voice makes her jump. 

"... Annie?"

She whirls around with wide eyes, and never before in her life has she been so relieved to see a child. Aoife stands there, by the mouth of the dark alley, fully dressed and her silver hair curtaining her face as usual. Her bruised eye is now black and blue, but less swollen, and they begin to grow shiny with tears. 

"... You came back."

Annie wills her heart, still racing with no brakes, to calm down and she tries to catch her breath.

"I waited for you." Aoife mumbles, her small voice cracking and breaking. "Every day. I waited for you to come back."

Annie blinks away her own tears, struggling to keep her face from crumbling under the weight of emotions she didn't know she was capable of feeling for anyone other than Armin and the others. She shoves her shaking hands into her pockets and curls them into tight fists. The ring is cold and unyielding in her left.

The hanko is warm and comforting, in her right. 

If not now, then when? 

"Defence." She blurts, before she loses her nerve. "I'll teach you defence. Nobody will hurt you anymore."

There's still time to be good. 

Chapter Text

Cold blue eyes that hold little mercy – no mercy – pierce into him, and he’s stunned into shock, too terrified to move. An arm rises to the sky in an authoritative wave and it carries enough power to summon an entire squad over. The onslaught of thundering footsteps makes his blood run cold. 

“As of now, you obey Armin Arlert’s orders.”

A sea of eyes that have calculated and executed titan kills with precision over years longer than he’s been in the military, regard him with doubt, apprehension and curiosity… but they dare not question their Commander’s judgement. The silence echoes in his own heart which is now in his throat, stuck, jammed, trapped. And then…

“We’ve searched the walls thoroughly!”

“What are your orders, Arlert?!”

A ticking time bomb that he has to defuse. He racks his brain for something, anything, and he comes up with his orders. Dispatches the 20 or so soldiers he’s been assigned to the walls once more. It strikes him at some point that he should think outside of the box – just like the way their enemies always did. Because quite obviously, they knew things the Scouts didn’t. 

And he smokes them out. 

In that brief moment that he fires his flares, he feels honoured and proud to be working under his Commander. To stand beside him, see the gears working in his head, understand the logical reasoning behind his strategization – skills obtained through so many years of glorious, bloody experience. 

He watches Commander Erwin Smith choose his priorities.

The scene changes to one where the earth quakes under their feet; shudders and trembles that travel through their bodies, through his gear, up his spine, and to the back of his neck which grows cold and numb with the sight of the approaching skinless colossals. 

And the sight of Commander Hange approaching him with sacrifice, purpose, and determination set on her face.

“Armin Arlert,” She begins.

He can do nothing but watch. Watch in dread; horror, and terror pooling ice-cold in his gut. Listen, with shock numbing his muscles top down and bottom up, as Hange speaks her words. 

As Hange too, chooses her priorities and passes her title to him. 

Armin opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling with a fast heart-rate and a dry throat. It’s a relatively cool night but he feels uncomfortable and hot. It only worsens how it feels to wake up from a poor sleep riddled and infested with nightmares and things from the past that shouldn’t be haunting him, but still do. He blinks heavy eyes open and turns his head to stare at the clock on the dresser. It’s three in the morning. 

Getting up is a challenge, not only because of the little sleep he’s gotten – he remembers the clock said twelve midnight when he went to bed – but also because he feels he’s sinking into the bed with how heavy his chest feels. It takes serious effort to lift his torso up and swing his legs over the side, where, once the soles of his feet touch the cool wooden floor, he almost feels dizzy. But now upright, he rubs his face with his palms and sits like that for a long while, in the dark room, until his heartbeat slows down to the steady thrum that belongs to an everyday life.

Or so he hopes. Because today’s Sunday, and he’s taking Annie out on a date.

This thought makes him feel a bit better, and he gets up. Perhaps some coffee will pep him up because clearly, he’s not going to fall asleep anymore, and he can get some reading done before they head out.

The kitchen is empty and dark and unsurprisingly so, given the hour it is, but when his feet step off the stairs, Armin feels lonely. By the counter, he picks up a mug and stares tiredly at the glass flask of coffee brewed sometime yesterday or even the day before, he has no idea. All the guys were heavy caffeine enthusiasts which meant that the flask never really went empty. But he doesn’t feel like old decoction now, and decides to make himself a fresh brew. 

Armin sets a pot of water to boil and his dreams invade his thoughts. 

Priorities. 

Both of his predecessors had made them clearly and definitively. Although, back then, priorities were made with relative ease – it was always, always, humanity over all else. Eradicating the power of titans, over all else. Taking down Eren, above all else. And it had been done.

And now, for him? His priorities?

The water simmers to a boil, but he doesn’t even notice it until the pot rattles on the stove, and with a start, he turns off the flame. The filter curls into a cone inside the mouth of the flask and he spoons ground coffee into it in heaps. 

And he feels so tired.

He sleeps, but uneasily. He wakes, but tiredly. He walks, but heavily. 

Armin sets the jar of coffee down and leans forward on the counter, palms flat on the surface to brace himself and head hung low. He feels so heavy, like lead drowning to the bottom of the sea, and also light, like he’s made of feathers that can blow away at the smallest brush of air. He wants to go back to bed but knows it will be a lot worse if he does; staring at the ceiling aimlessly will only feed into his exhaustion after all, and so, he straightens his spine and looks at the heaped coffee waiting to be made into fresh decoction. But it no longer appeals to him, and he realises he feels lonely in this empty kitchen because the coffee isn’t chocolate.

It goes back into the jar, and the paper filter goes back into its pack. Armin opens the cupboard above his head and rummages carefully behind the champagne glasses until his fingers feel the familiar round shape of the cocoa jar. It fits into the hollow of his palm neatly when he pulls it out and pops the lid open. With each step he takes to turn it into the cold chocolate he wants, he feels a little better. The milk turns rich brown and when he finally throws in the ice cubes, he stares at the mug in front of him, rather surprised at his ability to have been able to do this in one go without heaving yet another sigh, the way one has been punctuating everything else he’s done for the last two– no, three weeks. 

Three weeks of his mind racing against time to catch up with the workings of world politics of the kind that he had been barred from participating in, back on Paradis. He was considered too young then, too unimportant, and after Eren left them, too dangerous, even. Now he has to struggle to understand the nuances and difficulties between every word and every sentence, weighted down with consequences of all kinds if spoken or written carelessly. He has to understand where Kald stands in the new world order, become familiar with its strengths and weaknesses, its powers and capabilities, and help build it into a centre of peace. He’s asked for opinions, expressions, and judgements and he has to walk a thin line to balance everything he says with the interests of not only Kald, but Paradis as well. 

Three weeks of non-stop, mind-numbing reading, writing, discussing, and he’s burning to a crisp, once more. 

Armin takes a sip. The chocolate is strangely not what his tongue expects, and he wonders why, when it tasted so comforting on the previous occasions. 

Deciding to go back to his room, he carries the mug with him when he goes up the stairs, mind dizzy with thoughts.

But he keeps walking. Past his room, past Jean’s room which is closed, past Connie’s room which is wide open – and he glances in to see him almost falling off the bed – past Reiner’s room which doesn’t have to be open for his snores to be audible well beyond the normal range of hearing. He keeps walking, climbing another step, then two, then three, the lamp from outside the window on the landing painting thin stripes of light and shadow over his tired and sleepless body of flesh and blood and nothing more. He keeps walking. His head is hot but his fingers are cold from the mug. He keeps walking, and has no energy to even flinch when he finds a strange shape snaking out of Pieck’s door – a plant, he tiredly realises – and his legs stop only when his heart stops in front of Annie’s door. 

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t be doing this. It feels wrong, creepy even, to sneak up to the girls’ floor alone, at an ungodly hour, and hope to find some comfort in watching Annie sleep. But his head is heavy, his heart is heavier, and he didn’t bring himself here with ill-intentions after all, surely, he can spend a few quiet minutes, right?

Annie doesn’t keep her door locked and somehow, he’s grateful for it. He’s had enough of being barricaded from her. Slowly, he nudges it open.

Annie’s sleeping on the bed with the sheets sliding down to the floor. On her side and with her back turned to him, he takes in the soft beauty of the sight. It comforts him. The gentle rise of a shoulder he knows to be stronger than it looks. The smooth curve and dip of a narrow waist he knows is very sensitive. Annie’s fast asleep, safe and sound, and it comforts him. Armin crosses his legs at the ankles and leans on her door frame, watching her. 

He remembers that day. 

It had been fall, and the pathway outside the military headquarters had been covered in red and gold from the trees above. When he dismounted his horse, he thought of how Annie might find it beautiful – but of course, she was imprisoned a few feet under the ground he stood on, and could see nothing of how the seasons changed as she slept. When he signed the visitor’s book to head into the basement, he saw the date. November third. His birthday. Not that birthdays mattered very much when you lived on a scrap of land that was under threat of being bombed and wiped out, but… he’d looked at his signature and the date on the flimsy yellow page and realized he’d been born seventeen years ago. 

That day, he was seventeen and sitting in front of Annie’s luminous crystal wondering when she would wake up. Wondering when he would see her light blue irises again. Wondering when she would look at him again. Wondering when she would talk to him again. Wondering if she would ever say his name in conversation just once again.

Seventeen and wondering if he’d ever be able to tell her that he’d fallen in love with her.

So he sat there, fraught with the way she tugged at his heartstrings even in her deep sleep, almost at the verge of tears, replaying every single interaction and conversation they had together since the age of thirteen when they first met as trainees. And somewhere there, in between all those memories, it struck him.

It struck like lightning.

Annie didn’t move inside her crystal, but he could see the way she’d looked at him that afternoon many years ago, when the sun was hot and they trained outdoors with hand-to-hand combat. Annie didn’t move, but he could see the way she’d stood next to him during inspection even though the other girls were quite far away. Annie’s eyes were still closed, but he could now see the desperate desire in her eyes to want to be a good person for him, the hurt in her eyes when he’d almost trapped her in Stohess, the hesitation in her eyes when he’d demanded, ordered, threatened her to kill him. 

It left him trembling.

She’d ruined her mission – for him.

What– what did that mean?

Seventeen, and in bed that night, he lay awake, eyes wide open and heart racing. He racked his brain, applied every kind of logical reasoning, considered every alternate possibility, came up with every ulterior motive he could think of – and tried to prove himself wrong. He desperately tried to prove himself wrong, because to be proven right–

… He was proven right. Nothing else fitted. Nothing else made enough sense. 

She’d loved him.

For so long.

And quite possibly, she still loved him.  

Armin was right to fear it – to be proven right was to be tortured. 

Because from then on, every day that he went to visit her was painful. Every day he stood in front of the luminous rock in silence, a silence that wasn’t really silence at all, because inside, his heart was screaming, wailing, to once, just once, please just once, hold her. On some especially torturous nights when he regretted his existence, and on some even worse nights after Eren disappeared, he’d sought comfort there, on the illuminated halo of light she created for him. Somehow, he always went back to sleep feeling a little better, wondering if ever there would come a day when Annie would sleep in different positions, on an actual bed, free of responsibilities.

Now, Annie shifts slightly with a soft groan and splays her legs and arms, and Armin smiles into his mug, feeling his heart soar. Those days have come – and they should last as long as her life. 

Now, he’s nineteen – very soon twenty – and he has her within reach, within grasp, in his hold, in his embrace, in whatever way he wants to be close to her, but he is still tortured.

Priorities. 

He takes another long sip, tilting his head until his temple touches the cool wood of the door frame. Annie looks so peaceful – ankles twisted in what is left of the sheets on the mattress; clothes comfortable and loose without the brutal dig of harnesses into skin; dreaming, he hopes, of things nice and wonderful, and far, far away from death and destruction. Her head is squashed deep into the pillow and in the poor light, he can see a sliver of the skin of her neck. Her arms are careless, her body is relaxed, her hair undone. 

Armin wants to protect this. This sight, this room, this life. Where Annie sleeps without a care in the world, where she can spend every day how she wants to, where she can visit the market, or picnic by the lake, or dance in the sitting room – maybe, with him – and nobody can force her to do otherwise. A life that’s hers, a life she lives by her own desires. 

He wants to protect this. This sight, this room, this life. Someday in the future, quite possibly… their life, in their room. There, he’ll sleep with her every night and wake up in the morning to see her opening her eyes, frowning in the sunlight, reluctant to get up, but eventually she will, and she’ll sit on the edge of the bed and maybe tie her hair up… how will she do that? Perhaps she’ll comb her fingers through the strands, bunch it up, twist it into a knot so effortlessly pretty, fasten it with one of her many pins that litter the dresser – their dresser – and she’ll sleepily saunter off into their bathroom where she’ll brush her teeth, and he’ll follow her there, watch her every movement, grow familiar with it, grow old with it, grow old with her.  

To protect this, he has so much to do.

To protect this, he has to race once again, for his mind to catch up to so many things he was deprived of, back on Paradis.

It’s the logical thing to do. Work now for the future he can have. 

… Right?

Priorities. 

Armin’s eyes feel hot and he closes them for a minute, the cold mug pressed into his cheek. He’d rather be in bed with her, falling in love with the way she sleeps.

But he’s so tired.

When Annie stirs once again, and it looks like she’s about to turn over to her other side, Armin quietly pulls the door closed and heads back downstairs. Past Pieck’s room, and down the first flight of stairs until he stops on the landing where his burning eyes pick out the outline of his shadow on the wall opposite. He’s a little taller than he remembers, but his silhouette looks… unremarkable. Not powerful enough, not strong enough, not authoritative enough. Can this be the silhouette of someone who fixes this broken world? Can he protect her life and everyone’s lives, looking like this? 

But he can’t find an answer to that at this hour with his bones feeling like dead weight, so he continues downward, past Reiner’s room, past Connie’s room – and now he’s sleeping on the floor – past Jean’s room, and into his own, where somehow, he’s lulled into a bit of sleep. His last thought before he blacks out is how, strangely enough, the chocolate that hadn’t quite tasted right in the kitchen, the remnants of which still linger on his tongue, now tastes sublime.  

When he wakes at six, he feels much better. His head a little clearer, his heart a little lighter. He gets out of bed with a small but significant spring in his step, but before he can brush his teeth and take a bath, his stomach growls. Armin isn’t surprised; three weeks of exhausting work had left proper meals to be the last thing on his mind. But, he thinks happily as he heads down to the kitchen, today isn’t the day to think about all that. Today’s Sunday, and he’s taking Annie on a date. 

His first date comes at the age of nineteen, and he’s blissfully happy about it. 

The kitchen is no longer empty or quiet, because Hanna, their housekeeper, bustles around cheerfully. Humming a tune, she whisks batter in a large bowl and pours eggs into the frying pan. A kind woman in her late fifties, with rosy cheeks and always pleasant, she always cooked far more than what they needed, and someday he would have to thank her enough to compensate appropriately. 

“Good morning Hanna,” He greets her with a smile, picking up a glass of water on the kitchen table.

“Oh my!” She whirls around in shock. “I didn’t hear you at all! Why, good morning, of course! You’re up early.”

Armin laughs. “Yeah, I have a busy day today.”

Hanna’s bright smile falters a little. “Oh, yes, of course… it must be hard.”

“Hm? What is?” Armin asks distractedly, picking a mango out of the icebox. He wonders where he should go with Annie first. Perhaps some strolling and window-shopping. Then when they get hungry, they could get a coffee and something to go with it. He can’t help but smile into the bite he takes of the chilled fruit.

“All this work, I mean.” Hanna turns away to pour a ladle of the batter into another frying pan, and it sizzles with a delicious aroma. “It’s so much…”

“Hm. It’s alright.” He looks out the window, thinking of what they’ll do next. More strolling. Perhaps the park. But not if it’s very hot, no, then they’ll head into the museums and look around there. When they get hungry again, they’ll get lunch in a restaurant. He’ll order off a menu and Annie will too, and he’ll find out the sort of things she likes. 

“Surely not,” Hanna clicks her tongue. “How horrid it must be to work even on a Sunday as glorious as this!”

Ice cream! Of course, he has to buy her ice cream! How will she react to that, he wonders, will she like it? Love it? Will–

Wait.

What?

Armin slowly turns around, hoping against hope that he’s misheard and this is some terrible side-effect of his exhaustion. “What did you say?”

“I said, how horrid it must be to work on a Sunday.” Hanna throws him a quick look, appearing sorry. “It’s not good for your health, and you’re so young.”

His throat goes dry and his soaring heart begins a dreaded descent. “What do you mean… working on a Sunday? I’m not– I’m not working today.”

Hanna turns to face him with a look of surprise. “There’s an urgent meeting this morning. Didn’t you know?”

His lack of response prompts Hanna to turn down the flame quickly and rummage in the pockets of her dress. “Oh dear, when you told me you’d be busy, I assumed you knew. Here,” She fishes out a neatly folded note. “When I was preparing breakfast at the Chancellor’s home this morning, he told me to give you this.”

Armin takes the note in limp hands and scans it. An urgent meeting to run through the draft of the press release. He has to be present, and then sign the final press notice before it’s sent out to the remaining nations of this shrunken world.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” He glances at Hanna briefly before skimming through the note again. “Surely just one day–”

“I was told that the postal ship leaves at noon so, no, I don’t think…”

Well, that does it. His spirits plummet and all the exhaustion comes crashing back into him once again. Gone is the spring in his step and excitement he’d managed to gather for the day. Gone is the promise of a normal day off where he’s nothing but a boy, enjoying the sun with a girl. Armin’s shoulders slump and his chest feels heavy – heavier than the weight of his sins.

“Thank you,” He mumbles before going upstairs to spruce himself up as best as he can. While brushing his teeth, he stares at himself in the mirror above the washbasin, wondering if this is how it will be, if this is how he will be, unable to clearly define and cut off his priorities from each other, because someone always needs him to look over something, say something, do something; because of the lie he carried on his shoulders; a huge, dark, devastating lie. 

He tugs the sleeves of a pressed shirt over his arms.

Priorities.

He buttons up his pants.

A better world. His friends. Paradis. Annie.

He picks up his bundle of notes.

Which comes first?

In the kitchen once again, fully dressed, he picks up an apple off the fruits basket. “Thanks Hanna. I’ll get going.”

“Wait! What about breakfast?”

“I’m alright.” He waves at her lightly. 

“Wait–” She calls again, and Armin turns before crossing out of the kitchen. She comes close and peers into his face with worry lines creasing around her mouth. It makes him wonder for a quick second whether this is how it would feel to have a mother fretting over him and seeing him off. 

“You’re looking gaunt, Commander.”

No. No, his mother would never call him that. 

Armin sighs. “I’m alright. I’ll be better once this ends. Thanks, though.”

Outside, he almost collides with a shocked Annie, and his heavy heart sinks further on seeing the disappointment in her eyes. With every explanation and apology he offers, the colour drains from her face and her sharp, beautiful shoulders fall in dejection though she tries hard, she really does, to hide it from him. He promises her a whole afternoon together, trimming it down from the entire day he’d earlier promised, and hoping she won’t hate him too much for it.

And then he’s forced to choose his priorities again, when Asa peeks out at him from behind her. 

He can’t say no to those teary brown eyes. He can’t say no, because he knows how it feels, to have lost the whole world in the form of loving parents, and then be expected to get over it all alone without a single adult to offer any consolation. He can’t say no, because Hannes wasn’t always there for him after that first time, though Armin would’ve liked him to be. 

So Armin forces some cheek into himself and squeezes Annie’s waist and promises her a long night together, because if nothing else, he can find some comfort in watching some colour fill her face once again. 

And then he sets off to the Chancellor’s office, Asa in tow, listening to his cheerful chatter with as much interest as he can muster in his dizzy and tired head. He turns to wave at Annie when he notices she’s still there watching them, and he wonders once more…

Which comes first?

A better world. His friends. Paradis. Annie.

She returns his wave, looking a little lost in thought.

Armin turns away. 

Clearly, today, his priority isn’t Annie. 

The lake is indeed the most beautiful during the summer. A surface as still and calm as a mirror, it’s as blue as the sky above, and as green as the mountains beyond. Except for the flutter of the wings of birds above their heads and the breeze swaying the trees bordering the lake, there’s no movement.

Until a stone neatly skims the polished surface of the water six times and sends ripples far and wide, breaking the stillness. 

“Six!”

Armin laughs. “If you keep at it, you’ll be able to do it too.”

Asa lifts his head to look up at him, eyes wide in wonder. “How long did it take you?”

“Hmm,” Armin frowns at a blurry cloud in the water. “A very long time. I’ve been doing it for years.”

The young boy’s face falls. “Oh… years…”

“Don’t worry,” Armin chuckles, tossing a stone into his small, open palms. “It may not take you years though. You’re a quick learner.”

“Am I really?” Brown eyes once again look toward him for reassurance. 

“You are.”

The two of them stand by the shoreline with a small pile of stones by their feet, stones they had gone hunting for together. At around five in the afternoon, Armin had left the office to pick Asa up and brought him to the lake. The boy had looked much better than he did in the morning, and told him excitedly that he’d been taught how to take measurements on small blocks of wood. He was learning to make boxes. Tea chests, specifically.

Armin watches him skip more stones; sometimes they skim once, sometimes barely twice, and sometimes they sink immediately. The breeze is cool on his hot eyes and he closes them, breathing clean, fresh air into his lungs. There’s something to be said of nature being the best therapy for fatigue. He feels a lot better already. 

A flock of ducks jump into the water from the far end to cross the lake and Armin places his hand on Asa’s shoulder to stop him briefly. “Wait. Let them pass.”

A mother and her many children swim slowly across, creating a neat trail of water behind them. Armin watches the hen and the ducklings with a mix of yearning and longing twisting into ropes inside his chest. There was a time when he too, had a mother, and she had taught him how to be curious about anything and everything that existed. 

He misses touching her handkerchief. He wonders if it’s still there, in his room back on Paradis. 

“A group of ducks,” Asa softly murmurs.

“A paddling of ducks.” Armin tells him. 

“A… paddling?”

“Yeah. Or a raft. Both are correct.”

“A raft of ducks.”

“The mother is called a hen.”

“What about the father?”

“A drake.”

“And the babies?”

“Ducklings.”

Asa is quiet for a long time, even after the ducks disappear from their view. Armin keeps his hand on his shoulder, patting gently. 

“I miss them.” Asa mumbles.

“You will.”

“Do they miss me too?” A teardrop, the first of this afternoon, rolls down his cheek. 

“Of course they do. So much.”

“I’m– I’m trying to be… brave.” 

“They’re really proud of you for that.” Armin blinks quickly into the distance where the clouds are large and looming, white and bright.

“They are?”

“No doubt about it.”

Asa sniffles and wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands. Then he looks up at Armin again. 

“Are your parents proud of you too?”

Armin’s chest tightens. Are they? He doesn’t know. Nobody had ever told him so, nor had they told him otherwise. He simply doesn’t know. Grandfather didn’t stay for very long after… after that. 

“I hope they are.”

“Where are they?”

He smiles softly at him, because if he doesn’t smile, he’ll drown in those memories again. “They left me a long time ago.”

Asa’s brown eyes begin to tear up once more, bright and shiny with moisture. “...So I’m just like you?”

Armin brings his hand up to Asa’s crown, smoothing down his messy blond hair. 

“You’re not like me. You’re much better.”

“Why?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Armin crouches down on his haunches to bring himself down to his eye-level. “You’re going to grow up in a better world. Much better than the one I grew up in.”

Asa stares at him with curiosity and wonder brimming in his eyes. “How do you know that?”

He doesn’t. “I’m trying to make it happen.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

At least, that’s what he hopes. With a deep sigh, he rises to his feet. “Go on, practise some more.”

Asa picks up more stones from the little pile and begins to skip them with renewed confidence while Armin takes a few steps back and sits on the grass. He feels the weight of so much pressure dragging his back down, down, down, until he’s flat on the meadows, arms and legs spread out and eyes closed. The grass is warm and soft under his neck and it yields to him, pulling his body in and welcoming him gently. The late afternoon sun heats his skin and when he opens his eyes, he sees the glorious summer sky.

Clear, light and blue. Large white clouds floating leisurely by. Some of them form shapes he wants to discern, but his head is too hot with too many thoughts to simply relax and let go. But, he thinks, they look so weightless in the sky. 

Clouds aren’t really light, he knows that. When Hange had taught him all about the weather, he learned that the average cumulus weighed around five hundred thousand kilograms. He’d been so shocked, but looking at Hange’s calculations and deductions, it had made sense. Water carried weight after all. And clouds were just that, large masses of water.

And yet, they could float in the sky like that, like puffs of cotton, and he wonders if his heavy heart will ever be able to do the same one day. 

Armin remembers being a young boy, running with the wind to a hill where the clouds were always weightless. 

Under this summer sky, on the grassy meadows, he is slowly lulled to sleep by the soft breeze and the gentle sounds of stones skipping the lake.

When he wakes, it’s already dark and the smell of chimney smoke fills the air. He hears the croaking of frogs and the chirp of the last birds rushing back home to their nests and Armin gets up with a start, noticing that he’s still on the grass and wondering groggily how much time has passed. A sudden pounding crashes into his skull and he winces.

“You’re awake!” A cry makes him turn to the left where Asa comes running forward, almost on the verge of tears. “I thought– I thought you–”

“Ugh,” Armin drops his throbbing head into his hands and groans. Great, a headache now, to add on top of everything else. He blinks his eyes wide open and smiles weakly at the little boy. “I’m alright. Sorry for worrying you. I guess I fell asleep.”

“Are you okay?” Asa asks, sounding worried. 

“I’m alright, don’t worry.” Armin chuckles. “But it’s really late. You should’ve gone home by now, why didn’t you?”

“I was looking out for you.” Asa smiles, a little shyly. 

Ah, shit. Has it really come down to this, where a child feels like he has to protect him? What is he even doing? It should’ve been the other way around.

“Well. You did great,” He forces a laugh. “But you better get going now.”

“Okay!” Armin stands up with a groan, dusting his buttocks and following Asa’s light spirited skips to the bridge. Once there, Asa turns around, looking shy once again.

“Hey, Commander–”

“Not Commander,” Armin interrupts him. “Just Armin.”

Asa looks confused. “But, everyone back there, they– they told me to call you Comm–”

“Well, I’m just Armin to you. Okay? Just Armin.”

“... Okay. Next time, can I come see you at your house?”

He smiles reassuringly. “Of course you can. You can come anytime.”

“Really?”

“Really. And if I’m not there, tell someone you were looking for me. I’ll come find you.”

Armin doesn’t remember the last time he saw such a bright smile on a child’s face, and it warms his heart. He only wishes it also made it feel a little lighter.

“Get going,” He prods Asa’s shoulder softly. “You must be hungry. Don’t miss dinner.”

“Alright,” Asa beams, climbing up the steps of the bridge. “Bye!”

“Bye.”

Hands deep into his pockets, Armin watches him run across the bridge until he can’t see him very well anymore. And then, he turns around toward the Village, to go back to the office where he’s left Reiner, all alone.

Somehow, Armin climbs the hill with his body feeling like a flooded ship, and also hungry, tired, head aching. And along the way, he comes to a stop in front of a supermarket and he remembers. He has something he needs to buy.  

The door opens with a tinkle and the store-owner greets him with a bright ‘welcome!'. Armin bows his head and crosses all the six or seven aisles containing vegetables, fruits, household goods, stationery, and more, until he stops at the one he needs to be in. Hygiene.

He’s never bought condoms before.

He takes long, slow steps across toothpaste, shampoo, aftershave and perfume… and there it is. He doesn’t know if he blushes or not because the second his eyes land on the little tins bearing different names, he feels hot all over. Giddy, like a silly teenage boy buying a box for the first time to feel like a rebel. 

Armin cannot believe a day has come when he has to have a regular supply of the one thing he’d never expected he’d really need… well, simply because he never thought he’d be living a proper, ordinary life with Annie in the first place. But now… he picks a tin off the shelf and scrutinises the label with an embarrassed frown. But now… things are different. 

But not expecting didn’t equal not fantasising.

And fantasising… he’d done plenty.

After that night when he turned seventeen, visiting Annie’s crystal had been torture, yes, because he couldn’t hold her, touch her, talk to her.

But it had given way to other kinds of torture, too. And every one of those nights, he’d felt like a dirty criminal, fantasising over a girl who was put in a coma. It meant, of course, that the relief he sought in his room always, always, ended in a crushing wave of depression. It also didn’t help that living in the boys’ quarters always meant that he’d be privy to hushed dinner-time conversations about sex, about what girls liked, about which latex was better, and about many other things that Armin always ended up feeling bad about because… well, there was no way any of that would matter in his life. 

After all, the one girl that he was interested in, was stuck in a crystal because of him.  

But it still didn’t stop fueling his fantasies. They were beautiful. Vivid. Sometimes wild – wilder than he thought he was capable of being. 

And he cried after each such night, because Annie, when will you wake up? Will you ever wake up?

But now… things are different, and cheeks burning hot at one particular box that seemed a right fit for his size, Armin takes it back to the front and pays for it. 

When he walks out of the shop, he shoves the box into his back pocket where it wedges behind his wallet. Behind his wallet with all the slots that he hopes someday, to fill with pictures. 

Priorities.

Armin pushes the door open and sees that Reiner is slumped over several papers and half asleep with the pen nearly dropping out of his fingers. He feels instantly bad about asking him to take over briefly while he spent time with Asa, and ended up taking too long. 

“Reiner.” Armin calls quietly, knocking his knuckles on the polished door.

“Oh…” Groaning, Reiner’s hands fly to his eyes to rub the sleep out of them. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Come on, let’s go. It’s eleven.”

"I'll just–" Reiner attempts to arrange the papers on the desk but Armin shakes his head. 

"It's alright. I'll do it tomorrow morning."

With a yawn, Reiner steps out of the office and Armin closes the door behind him. They exit the garden together and he hands over the key to the security guard at the gates. Two pairs of feet turn the corner to make the uphill climb to their house along the street which is mostly deserted, save for a few stores that are still open and bright.

"Sorry," Armin apologises. "I kind of lost track of time."

"It's alright. It wasn't too bad." Reiner yawns again. "Helga came by two hours ago. They're going to give us our own office, you know?" 

"Yeah, I heard about that." Armin blinks, sleep coming on fast and hard. He should be happy about it, but he isn't, particularly. There's not a single fibre or muscle in his body that isn't overtaken with fatigue. 

Hands in his pockets again, he watches his legs keep pace with Reiner's and remembers how they began this way, as trainees, as fellow soldiers, all those years ago. 

"Look at all these lanterns," Reiner says, looking skyward and Armin follows his gaze to the lamp-posts on either side of the street from which are strung colourful paper lanterns. They aren’t lit up, but both of them agree quietly that the sight is beautiful all the same. Way ahead, a solitary shopkeeper on a step ladder screws on a lightbulb inside one. 

“I remember the festival in Liberio,” Reiner sighs and Armin glances at him, knowing full well what he’s talking about. “The streets were decorated like this. Our little pathetic slum, all tidy and clean for the diplomats to descend upon us.”

Armin says nothing, but he shoves his hands deeper into the safety of his pockets. Yeah, he’d been there too.

“The kids had so much fun that day,” Reiner chuckles sorrowfully. “And us adults too. Looking at Porco, Pieck and Colt laughing like that, I felt like… I wanted to protect their happiness.”

Armin matches his sorrowful smile with one of his own. He understands the feeling all too well.  

“We destroyed all of that,” He says quietly. “That very night.”

For a moment, there’s silence before Reiner clears his throat. “Well. You did what you had to do. The same way we destroyed everything on Paradis. There’s… nothing more to say about it.”

“No, there’s not.”

There’s a loud clatter, and Armin watches Reiner jog forward to hold the step ladder steady as the frail shop-keeper attempts to come down. He receives a grateful pat on the back and even helps him put away the heavy ladder inside the shop. In the end, this was who Reiner had always been. Just another victim of the circumstances. 

“You were a big brother figure to us too,” Armin says with a smile, walking faster to catch up to him where he waits. “Just like this. Always looking out for us.”

Reiner returns his smile with a bit of sadness. “I guess I couldn’t help it. I became very close to all of you.” They continue on their way together. “Would you believe me if I said that Annie was the one who kept us in check?”

Armin laughs. “Well, it makes sense.” He turns to face him, still walking. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you were pretending all that time. You did become one of us… until you couldn’t afford to stay that way anymore.”

Reiner regards him for a long moment, his eyes serious and sentimental. “I… can’t accept thinking that way for now, but, thank you.” His lips press into a thin line. “I appreciate it.”

The silence is interrupted only by the sounds of their shoes together scraping along the stone underneath. Two men, tired and hungry, going back home. Armin feels his body weigh his speed down so much that he begins to think that this street-side may not be such a bad place to sleep after all. 

“You’ve come so far,” Reiner’s voice pierces through his sleepy haze once more.

“I suppose we have.”

“No, I meant you.” Reiner turns slightly to face him. “I still remember that day back in training, when we were being graded on our endurance. It was raining and–”

“Oh, yeah,” Armin chuckles, rubbing his eyes. “Shadis. The weights. You carried them for me.”

“But you took them back,” Reiner grins proudly. “I admired you so much for that.”

It sounds ridiculous to him. A warrior like Reiner, admiring him? But he doesn’t have the strength to argue or deny it, so he keeps quiet. 

“We ate meals together and even played chess. Remember?”

“Sure I do.” Fond memories of a time long gone by. 

“But look at you now,” Reiner’s voice drops. “A Commander, leading us bravely to a better world.”

Armin sighs. His chest is so, so heavy. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“How come all those titans helped us back then?” Reiner sounds curious. “You said something to Zeke in the Paths, didn’t you?”

Ah. That. 

Armin takes a deep breath. “I told him that being alive, I’d be happy just to relive some of my favourite moments and memories. That life didn’t need to have a grand meaning.”

Reiner says nothing for several long minutes and he begins to feel his chest grow heavier and heavier. He’s such a hyp–

“Only you would’ve said that.” Reiner breathes quietly. “Only you would’ve been able to see it that way. You’re right.

“Life doesn’t have to have a grand meaning.”

Armin feels miserable. 

“For now,” Reiner takes in a shaky breath full of suppressed emotions. “For now, I’m just glad I get to enjoy a festival with all of you, together.” He laughs. “I want to buy Pieck and Annie some good food.”

He manages to summon a weak smile. He’s such a hyp–

“Ah, but,” Reiner chuckles and nudges him in the ribs with a sly glance. “I won’t steal Annie away from you for too long. I’ll return her to you.”

Really. Armin's eyes burn hot from being deprived of sleep and the headache pounding within his skull, and he stares dully at the rise and fall of the textured stones under their shoes. 

He’s such a hypocrite.  

Grand words like that meant nothing if he couldn’t live by them. He’d be happy just watching the sunlight reflect off Annie’s eyes. He’d be happy just watching her flip through a book in boredom. He’d be happy to just spend long silences together with her. But he’d barely seen enough of her over the last two weeks. 

He just wants to be a boy.

But he has responsibilities he cannot abandon. 

Responsibilities that create priorities.

Priorities.

“We're home,” Reiner smiles softly at their house which comes into view, the windows in the kitchen burning a dim gold. “I’m so glad.”

They take off their shoes and eat a quiet dinner in the kitchen. The food is cold, but it matters very little when he's so hungry – but hunger and exhaustion fight a vicious battle in his body with the latter winning by a narrow margin, and he's almost certain a lot of the food is leftover when he puts the bowls in the sink and they go upstairs. 

Outside their rooms, he wishes Reiner goodnight. And that's when he's asked. 

"But what about Annie?"

Armin pauses, his hand on the doorknob, and twists to look at Reiner's figure in the dark corridor. 

"What about her?" 

"You're not including her in any of your meetings."

She doesn't belong there, because she doesn't deserve to be burdened with all of that. And he tells him as much, because he's too tired to explain further. "These aren't her responsibilities. I don't want to force her to be a part of any of this."

"But have you considered that maybe she wants to be a part of your life?" 

His chest grows so impossibly tight that he feels like he's going to suffocate. Of course he knew that Annie missed him. He didn't need twenty of hours of sleep to be aware of that.

"I know that."

Reiner sighs. “Go to sleep. You look like you’re going to collapse.”

“... Yeah. Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

In his room, Armin barely stops short of collapsing on the bed, but he manages to pull off his socks and tug his shirt out of his pants. It’s only when he picks his wallet out of his back pocket and tosses it on the bed when it falls on the floor with a thud. The box of condoms.

“Ah, right,” He mumbles. Right. He’d promised her sex tonight. He should go upstairs. Maybe she’s asleep… but maybe she’s not. It’s alright, he can just… he has to make it up to her. He’s even got the condoms. They’re safe now. He should… should…

… go upstairs, by first opening his door, then turning left and going up the stairs to her room where he’ll… knock and…

But he finds himself sinking into the bed and everything goes black.

Two days later, Armin finds himself more exhausted than ever. 

“... So four months from now, then?”

“That sounds alright.” Armin scrutinises the calendar. “It gives everyone time to figure out how to survive and settle in this new world, and gives us time to prepare. If Kald is going to be the centre of peace talks, then we need to make sure a lot of policies, action plans, and other measures are in place. More importantly, our ideals have to be very clear.”

The Chancellor’s keen eyes – along with the several other pairs of eyes in the room –  study Armin and he rubs his chin. “Yes, that’s true. We cannot be floundering for anything.”

“Nor lacking anything.” Armin points out, peering into another document in front of him. 

“Nor lacking in anything.” The Chancellor’s face slowly spreads into an appreciative smile. Then he nods at Helga, his secretary. “You heard the man. Will you make sure he has everything he needs, when he needs it?”

Helga beams. “Got it. Every proposal will go through Commander Arlert.”

“Will you begin to draft the invites to the other nations? The sooner we send them out, the better prepared we can be for any questions they may pose to us when they arrive.”

“Yes, of course.” 

“Alright.” The Chancellor glances at the clock on the wall. “It’s already very late.” He stands up. “Everyone is dismissed. And enjoy the festival, all of you!”

A chorus of voices – tired, relieved and happy – echo in the room in an exchange of greetings and summer wishes. Armin arranges his papers and nods politely at everyone who passes by, doing his best to keep a heavy sigh from leaving his throat.

“This year’s festival is quite the special event,” The minister for external affairs calls before he steps out of the room. “We have the Heroes of Peace here with us, and the Titans are gone. What can possibly be better?”

“A great honour for our small country of Kald!”

“Well said!” 

Elated laughter reverberates through the room and Armin adds his own modest smile to the many thrown his way. Standing up, he gathers his papers into the brown envelope and tucks it under his arm, waiting for all the ministers to stream out of the room first.  

“Goodnight fellas!” 

“Goodnight!”

And then, it’s just him and the Chancellor. 

“Do you know the significance of the festival?” The Chancellor asks him, while he sweeps his table clean of the clutter accumulated throughout the day’s packed meetings.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“During this festival we celebrate the start of summer. Typically the fireflies make their first appearance on the first night,” He shrugs on his coat and smooths it down his shoulders. “The fireflies remind us that it’s the small, simple things in life that matter the most. They tell us to slow down and appreciate all that surrounds us.”

“Oh,” It’s all Armin can say because he understands it of course, he sees the value of the sentiment and he even marvels at how it mirrors his own thoughts about life in general… but he’s too tired to properly take it to heart.

“Make sure you enjoy all that it has to offer.” The Chancellor tells him. “Not only is it a special festival for Kald this year because of all that’s happened, but I’m sure it’s special for all of you too. Am I right?”

Armin smiles at him. “You’re right.”

“Well, that’s good then.” He pats him on the back. “You’re doing well, my boy. Take a break.”

Armin wonders then, for a quick second, if this is how it would feel to have a father offer him encouraging words and a brave smile.

“Thank you for today, Commander. Goodnight.”

No. No, his father would never call him that.

“Goodnight.”

On his way home, Armin feels every bone in his body splintering into bits and pieces and the only thing that keeps him from breaking down into a pile of dust is the thought that the rest of the week will be gloriously free – free from all that he has to think of, to prepare for the diplomats that would arrive late into the fall. 

It will be his first multi-nation political gathering. He’ll have to put up with a great many more expectations and demands.

And everyone will expect him to speak gold.

It’s four months away, but he’s already feeling the weight dangling above his head on a thin string, fraying with each second that passes, waiting to crash into him and break him into smithereens altogether.

Will it ever get easier?

Perhaps there will come a day, when he deals with all of this with greater ease? Perhaps there will come a day when all this feels natural and part of everyday life? Perhaps there will come a day when he’s able to shuffle his priorities properly, efficiently, neatly and satisfactorily, so he has time for everyone and everything and also doesn’t feel as burnt out as he does now?

His chest feels heavy. There are more lanterns strung from the lamp-posts tonight but he can’t find it in himself to truly enjoy how pretty they look, even unlit, because his heart is so, so heavy. 

When the house comes into view, he deflates thinking about all he has to do when he enters it. Take off his shoes, manage to eat some morsels of food so he doesn’t collapse and cause more trouble for everyone else, then trudge up the stairs – there are so many, he thinks – and get to his room, where he has to take off his clothes and change into more comfortable ones, and then if possible, wash his face and brush his teeth and–

It sounds daunting and he almost doesn’t cross into the garden because he feels–

The door opens and he looks up in surprise.

“Hey. Welcome back.” 

Annie stands there in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and looking relieved to see him.

“Annie?” He says softly. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

She doesn’t answer, but reaches forward and ushers him into the foyer, closing the door behind them. 

His shoes come off and he can only blink tired and slow in response. She puts them away to the side and with a hand on the small of his back, prompts him to walk into the kitchen.

“Dinner’s still hot. Sit.” Annie switches on the overhead lamp – just one – and it floods the table with a circle of warm yellow. Dumbfounded and half of the belief that he’s asleep and really just dreaming up all of his, Armin drags a chair out and sits on it heavily. His papers find some place on the far end of the table and he just watches Annie open the lid of a still-steaming pot and dish rice out onto a plate. She adds a spoon and picks a glass for water and takes the seat next to him.

“You’re hungry?” She inquires, and all he finds possible to do is nod silently. But she’s satisfied with that kind of answer and twists in the chair to face him, spoon in her fingers.

“Can you eat by yourself or…?” She questions with one raised eyebrow. 

What’s the right answer to that? Armin thinks it is to say - yes, of course he can, and he does–

“Yeah, I can.” but instead of affirming it with a firm nod, he shakes his head no. Annie’s lips twitch in a smile before she chuckles.

“What a mess.”

So she feeds him. 

“You’ve been eating poorly.” She states matter-of-factly, not looking at his eyes, even though all he can do is look at her. How long had she been waiting? She must be so sleepy and tired. Why was she waiting for him? Had she seen him come through the window? Is she angry? Is she sad? Is she okay? Is everything alright? 

Annie places spoon after spoon into his mouth, of the best vegetable rice he’s ever eaten in his life, and he chews and swallows, thinking of how delicious it tastes. 

“Did you make this?” He asks, sounding scratchy and hoarse both from a long day and his exhaustion. 

“No,” She chuckles again. “Why?”

“Oh, just… it tastes so different…” He mumbles before she sticks another spoonful in his mouth. 

"Good or bad?"

"Very good."

“You’re just very hungry, then,” She shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re so eager to ruin your health like this. I hope it’s exciting, at the very least.”

“No,” To this, Armin does shake his head no, correctly.

“Hm. Last mouthful.” She says, cupping a palm under his chin when she sticks the spoon in his mouth again. "Do you want more?"

Armin shakes his head again, because no, no he doesn't. He's full and he's happy, but most of all, he feels comforted. So very, very comforted. She pushes the empty plate away and busies herself with pouring cold, fresh water into a glass.

And he just stares at her.

Annie's hair, gleaming softly under the warm light of the overhead light bulb, is tied up in a careless knot and a few loose strands tickle the nape of her neck. Sitting next to her like this, he can’t help but notice how small she is. Small, but so strong. When she turns to face him again with the glass in her hands, he dips his head down to take a long drink like a tired animal, and she chuckles, amused. She tilts the glass as he drains it and finally, puts it away.

He just wants to stay with her like this. So he lays his head down on her shoulder, and she holds him close.

Armin inhales deeply. Annie smells of soap and comfort and very much Annie. It's like taking a plunge into a pool of ice-cold water after a long day under the hot sun. She keeps his head on her shoulder and he closes his eyes at the gentle touch of her fingertips on the side of his face not pressed against her.

"You alright?" She murmurs and he hears her voice in her chest.

"Now I am."

He is. He already feels lighter. Nuzzling his cheek deeper into her shoulder and sliding a little down to her chest in the process, Armin lets himself soak in the comfort of what home feels like with a beating heart. She brushes the ends of his hair that cover the sides of his temples and breathes soft and warm air into the crown of his head. One of his limp hands finds hers and Annie wordlessly slips her fingers between his. Intertwined hands resting on his lap, alone together, Armin wishes, desperately wishes that this moment would last forever and ever.

"I miss you." She whispers with a kiss on the top of his head. "A lot."

He feels guilt seep into the soothing blanket of comfort like an insect and raises his chin just slightly to look up into her eyes.

Clear, light and weightlessly blue, like the skies. They always manage to calm the storm raging inside him. In the past, now, and even in the future. He'll always find comfort in her.

But how many storms of his would she have to put up with?

Armin reaches up his free hand to brush a lock of hair away from her face as she continues to hold his gaze. Eyes like the daylight sky, that hold strength and resilience within those light blue irises. They expand into the dark pupils of night whenever they focus on him and him only. 

The inside of his palm hollows to fit the gentle curve of her cheek and she leans into his touch. She keeps her eyes on his and doesn't break contact even when his thumb brushes along her delicate lower lashes.

"What are you thinking?" She whispers.

I want to make love to you, he thinks. Undress you, kiss you, take you high. His index finger  brushes along her upper lashes, long and beautiful, and her eyelids flutter closed. 

He wants to make love to her. Give her ecstasy and pleasure and everything he has to offer.

But he's so tired.

Sometimes he wishes he were just a boy, able to get lost in the skies with a heart as weightless as a summer cloud.

The clock ticks midnight and the hills of the Village welcome the fireflies home for the summer.

Chapter Text

He’s running.

The beating of drums reverberates through the streets. The melodious tunes of instruments he’s never even heard before sing in his ears. Smoke from the corn stand, smoke from the incense. Streamers and banners flying in the morning breeze. Someone bursts a balloon containing colourful bits of paper and much of it flutters onto his hair and clothes. But he pays attention to none of it, he sees and hears none of it.

Because he’s running.

Armin weaves through the crowd along the winding slope that seems to be growing larger by the second even this early in the day. The festival kicks off only in the evening but the festive mood is already in full swing and he’s certain he heard the drums as early as five in the morning when he’d woken from a nightmare. 

The mood is light and cheerful and it infects him. His legs slow down to a quick paced climb where it’s too crowded to run, and he curses under his breath when he almost knocks into a stray basket of fruits. He’s still tired and exhausted and awfully sleep-deprived, but today, the heaviness in his chest is different – it comes not from his heart, but from the thick bundle of papers he carries in his coat pocket, pressed to his chest. 

Today he feels buoyant, carried high to the sky by the waves of a kind sea. 

A torrent of greetings are thrown at him as he picks up his pace once again. Familiar faces, all a blur because of his hurry to get home. 

“Hey, Commander! Good morning!” Someone greets him and he flashes a grin. 

“Morning!”

“Commander, make sure you come by this evening!”

“Will do!”

“Commander, remember your promise to me!” 

“How can I forget?” He laughs over his shoulder. “You sell the best fruits in the market!”

“Damn right I do!”

“Commander, I’m selling new drinks tonight, and I’ll give you a special discount!”

“I’ll drop by!”

“Bring the other lads!”

“Of course I will!”

"Look, that's the Commander from the Island of Paradis!"

“Commander–”

He hates it, he really does, and he’s pulled taut and strained from carrying the weight of the title already. But today, not even this can hurt him. Today, he’s dizzy with excitement and happiness. Today, he’s relishing the taste of it. 

Success. A small morsel. But success nevertheless, and it carries enough sweetness to overtake entirely the bitterness that came to linger on his tongue over the past three weeks.

And that’s enough for his heart to begin a delirious ascent to the sky. He dashes into the garden of their house and kicks off his shoes on the verandah, throwing the door open. And he all but bursts into the kitchen where the others sit, chattering over breakfast. 

Reiner whirls around and looks relieved. “Armin! Where were you?”

“Don’t tell me you went to the office today, of all days,” Jean complains. “It’s festival holidays for fuck’s sake!”

Armin bends over with his hands on his knees, panting heavily to catch his breath. Straightening his back, he pulls out the one loose sheet of paper tucked tightly away into his pocket. Face flushed and lit up with happiness, he smooths it out between his shivering hands. 

“What is that?” Connie asks, slowly putting down his spoon and fork. “Armin–”

But Armin brings his hand up for silence and everyone goes quiet. 

“Dear Members of the Alliance,” He begins to read, barely able to control the excitement in his voice. "I have received–"

"Wait, who's the Alliance?" Jean rises from his seat but Armin waves him down impatiently. 

"I have received your letter," He continues, the sheet of paper shaking in his grasp. "It brings me immense relief to know that you are all safe–"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Reiner gets up so fast from his chair that it topples backwards. "Is that from–"

"–Historia?!" Connie cries. 

"Shut up, let him read!" Jean hisses, standing with his hands on his head, and Armin grins, going back to reading from the letter.

"Mikasa had, of course, met up with me as soon as she returned to Paradis, and she briefed me on the end of the Rumbling..."

Reiner strides over to throw a heavy arm around Armin's shoulder, peering into the letter as he reads aloud. 

"The only ones who are happy about the end to the Rumbling are a handful. As I am writing this letter, the island is overrun with Jaegerists. Floch's death has not deterred their fanaticism. However there are reliable channels in place and through them, I am certain that regular communication between us will be possible."

Armin takes a deep breath, turning the sheet of paper over. Quickly, he glances at Annie and Pieck who are the only two people still remaining seated on the table. 

He continues. "The six of you are now the faces of a new world, one free of titans, one where the cycle of hatred can finally be dismantled. I have nothing but confidence that you will be able to lead the rest of humanity into a new era of peace and understanding with glorious success. As long as you carry the Wings of Freedom, it does not matter who you represent in your efforts."

Armin's voice cracks.

"Rest assured, your families are under protection–"

Jean and Connie slump into their seats, hands pressed tight over their eyes.

"And Paradis will be waiting for your return. Yours, Historia." He finishes.

For a minute, nobody moves.

And then, all three men descend on him first, squeezing his shoulders, thumping his back, yanking his hair, yelling into his ears and hugging him – and Armin can’t help but laugh. The kind of happiness and joy that he’d been unable to display in the Chancellor’s office, now bubbles up out of him, like lava from a volcano. He gets caught in the middle of their stronger-than-necessary group hug and somehow, through a gap between Reiner and Connie’s looming frames, glimpses Annie watching him, spoon in her mouth, a smile playing on her lips. His heart soars when he thinks about how she’ll react in a few minutes. 

“But what’s with the ‘Alliance’?” Jean wonders aloud, laughing. “A new name?”

“Maybe that’s what they’re calling us back there. The anti-Jaegerists anyway.” Armin says, folding up the letter, feeling more breathless from their celebrations than his run up the hill. “It makes sense – us and the warriors, coming together, an alliance of sorts–”

“Huh. The last I remember, they called us traitors,” Connie snorts, grinning. “Though I don’t hate it. Heroes of Peace. The Alliance. What next?”

“But we did it! One small step forwards!” Reiner bellows and it’s enough to get the three of them clamouring all over Armin again, and he almost dies in the centre of their massive hug. He pushes at them, euphoria splitting his face in a wide grin. 

“Alright you guys, get off,” Armin laughs, shrugging them away. “There’s something else.” He takes a step back for some space. He looks at Annie once again with a soft smile. 

All is quiet. Nobody says a word. Five pairs of eyes on him. Heart in his throat, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the heavy bundle held together by a thin string. 

“You’ve got letters.” He whispers, placing it on the centre of the dining table.

Everyone stares at the bundle of envelopes like it's dynamite. They look from him, to the letters, and back again. Armin shrugs, grinning. 

The kitchen explodes into cheering. 

The string is shorn, letters are grabbed from the bundle, addresses read, passed around, and then torn open. Jean reads his mother’s six page letter with tears streaming down his face. Connie reads his mother’s shorter letter slumped against his chair. Armin laughs as Reiner clutches Historia’s brief note to him with a blissed out expression on his face. 

“My mother’s okay!” Jean yells. “She says– right here–!”

“So is mine! Jean, she says she’s with your ma!” Connie yelps, jabbing a hole through his letter. “How the heck–?”

“Historia wrote to me!” Reiner sniffles. “I can’t believe it.”

But Pieck’s shriek is the loudest of all. “Annie!” She unfolds a letter quickly and claps her hand to her mouth. “Your friend Hitch wrote back to me!”

“But Historia’s letter is so short!” Reiner groans, earning pitiful laughter from the others. 

“So, Jean-bo, what’s your mother saying in all those six pages?”

“Don’t call me that!” 

“Hitch’s letter is splotched with tear-drops,” Connie peeks into Annie’s letter, unfazed by her glare at him. “How are you even reading that?”

“Mikasa says she misses us,” Reiner points at his second letter with tears in his eyes. “But she’s glad that we’re safe.”

But it’s Connie’s hooting that drowns out everyone else this time. “Annie’s blushing!” He points at her before peeking over her shoulder again. “Ooooh, Mikasa’s letter is long as hell! What’s she say– ouch!” He lands on the floor with a dull thud as Annie, blushing furiously, turns away to read her second letter in secret. 

Armin takes another step back and leans against the doorframe, arms folded. There’s a warmth in his chest that he can only begin to describe as summer itself, and he watches the others with a sting in his eyes. Reiner, reading and re-reading Historia’s letter to him, looking pardoned, looking forgiven, the perennially tortured lines on his face smoothed over for once. Jean and Connie hugging each other, emotional and pathetically so, with tears threatening to disintegrate their letters altogether. Pieck, reading Hitch’s letter with bright eyes and an excited smile, chattering away about its contents to nobody in particular because he guesses she’s happy to have a letter from somebody after losing all the people that she had ever known and loved. 

And then there’s Annie. When his eyes land on her, he feels the warmth inside him spread to every limb. The morning sunlight through the window lights up her face, but it can’t compare with the light in her eyes. Hitch’s letter in one hand, Mikasa’s in the other. There’s colour on her cheeks as she barely bothers with Pieck’s tugging and Connie’s nosy poking. Armin is glad for it. He wonders if he’ll be able to give her a life where she has not one, not two, but many friends like Hitch, and Hitch herself, living a few houses away.

If that would take another three years of hard work to achieve, then… it would be worth it. If Annie would smile like this, it would all be worth it. 

… missing.

Breakfast is abandoned and forgotten when letters are snatched out of each other’s hands and read without consent. Summer is hot and unpleasant, but this heat in the kitchen is comforting. He sweeps his eyes over the chaos with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. Bits of envelope everywhere, torn into pieces, covering the floor like snow.

Something’s missing.

Armin chuckles and claps his hands when Reiner loudly announces that he’s going to buy them all drinks in the evening. His eyes search the messy surface of the dining table.

Something’s wrong.

Yes, this is family. This too, is a family Armin wants to protect, cherish and preserve. He looks at all the letters curled in everyone’s fists.

Something’s very, very wrong.

The happiness is momentary. Fleeting. 

And then it’s gone altogether. Lost as soon as his soaring heart is yanked down to the depths of a dark sea, darker than he’s known, deeper than he’s ever been before. The anchor weighs into him, turning his limbs heavy once more, and every last remnant of the sweetness of the small success is usurped by the rude bitterness – now accompanied with an unknown dread as well. The kitchen becomes shrouded in darkness. 

There’s no letter for him from Mikasa. 

Why? 

His nerves are frazzled, and he carries them throughout the rest of the day. He spends much of the morning desperately trying to hold himself together and hide the effects of prolonged exhaustion and strain. When the others erupt into laughter over something he doesn’t quite catch during lunch, he forces a tight smile instead and it almost shocks him how alarmingly uncomfortable it is to smile when it doesn’t reach the eyes. 

Why hadn’t Mikasa written to him?

The food tastes like dirt, like the sand on Fort Salta that had blown into his mouth the minute he’d lost his titan form. It had been confusing, he didn’t remember pulling out of the nape. But the hands digging into the fine red sand were very much human. Human, and his. Smoke; smoke all around him, and a pungent smell. With great effort, he had risen to his knees, and it hit him with the weight of a dream lost forever – Eren’s last words to him had been “The one who will save humanity is you, Armin.”

Eren’s last words.

Eren, who appeared through the thick smoke, cradled in a pair of arms.

Eren, whose face was streaked wet with the single, lone teardrop from her cheeks. 

Mikasa, who knelt down beside Armin, and let him cry, restraining her own tears for his sake, because she would cry later, in secret; she would cry later, alone, and she wouldn’t know how much Eren had loved her after all. 

Mikasa, who had made the choice to wipe out the power of the titans from this world.

Mikasa, who made that choice, because he had made his own choice on the flying boat. 

Mikasa, who always looked to him for ideas and support.

Mikasa, who wouldn’t have made that choice if not for him.

Armin feels lost in the depths of a frightening sea. 

He spends the afternoon in a hazy state bordering irrational fear and panic. When he helps hang up the laundry on the clotheslines, the steady festive beat of drums down the village sounds to him like the horrifying pounding of his heartbeat in his chest. The white clouds in the sky look heavy to him, pressing down on him from all sides until he very nearly suffocates.

Why hadn’t Mikasa written to him?

For him, the unknown is the worst enemy. The most merciless possible form of torture. To not know is to be tormented.

And he feels tortured. At least with a reason, he can go in search of a solution, a remedy. But without one, all he can come up with after hours of pacing up and down the corridors of the house is this – Mikasa regrets it. All of it. She regrets her choices, she regrets everything that led to her actions.

Mikasa regrets him.

Armin finds himself by the window on the stairwell landing. It’s bright and sunny outside and colourful flags flutter in the breeze from tall poles hoisted along the spiralling street path. With every hour that ticks by, the festival grows nearer, the spirit of summer stronger, and the arrival of the fireflies ever closer. But he feels lost in the depths of a frightening sea. 

And it is dark and he can’t see. He can’t breathe. 

Hands flat on the windowsill, Armin tries to draw oxygen into his exhausted lungs. 

He can still see her retreating back disappear through the smoke. Mikasa was going to leave with Eren, she was going to let him sleep under their tree, she was going to spend the coming seasons there, in that place they called home. She had given him one last rueful smile before he lost sight of her completely. 

Helpless, he watched her go with Eren, leaving him behind, all alone. 

All alone, once again. 

All alone, to lead what remained of humanity into a new era. 

Why hadn’t Mikasa written to him?

Commander. All alone. Future world leader. All alone. A family to protect. All Alone. Annie to protect. All alone. 

Would she never write to him?

He can’t breathe. 

Would he ever find out why?

Somehow, Armin gathers some of the last bits of his energy, and climbs the stairs. To Annie’s room. He feels like he’s going blind. Blind because the anxiety sits hot behind his eyelids, burning through his eyes, and he wants to break down into pieces, let someone else put him back for once. He’s so tired.

He knocks on her door and realises numbly that his knuckles have barely made a sound. He sucks in a sharp breath and raps them harder, and finally, hears a faint click from within and her voice calling ‘it’s unlocked’. He pushes the door open. 

The scent of soap lingers in the air when he steps into her room and automatically, he looks at the open bathroom door. Annie emerges from it, freshly showered and dressed and even though his heart weighs a kiloton, it forgets to beat for a second. Her face is radiant and happy, and she gives him one of her rare, beautiful smiles. 

No.

He can’t tell her. 

He can’t poke a hole into the bubble of happiness that Hitch’s and Mikasa’s letters have put her in. 

She tosses her towel carelessly on the back of the chair. It’ll grow mouldy, Armin thinks, as he sits down on her bed. 

“Hi,” She says, sitting down next to him. 

“Hey.” He offers her a smile that he summons with much effort. Annie looks and smells so fresh and there’s nothing he’d like more than to let her take over his senses entirely. He doesn’t know what else to do, and yet… yet, he can’t find it in himself to confide in her, not now, when she’s like this. “Getting ready already? It’s only five.”

Annie wipes away a stray droplet of water from her nose. “Well, I was feeling too hot.”

“Hm.” He hums, studying the obvious signs of happiness on her face. “You’re happy. Did Hitch say something nice?”

Annie shoots him a sidelong glance, unable to help the small smile on her lips. “No.”

“Then?” He asks softly, leaning forward to peer into her face. “Something in… Mikasa’s letter?” 

Annie’s smile grows but she says nothing, choosing to look at her feet instead. Armin’s anxiety grows as much as his curiosity does. So Mikasa hadn’t written to him… and only him. Seemingly on purpose. His lungs twist in despair and he hangs his head, trying to bring himself up to shore by focusing on the scent of Annie’s soap.

A mistake , because Annie’s noticed. “You okay?” She asks, the beginnings of worry creeping into her light voice. 

Shit. He shakes his head with a reassuring smile that he once again has to summon up from the dark depths of the sea. “I’m alright. Just a little sleepy, you know.”

Annie searches his face carefully but eventually relaxes her shoulders, and he’s relieved. It’s really not something he should be feeling proud about, but during times like this, he’s glad he’s a good liar. 

She leans against him gently and he lets her place her weight along his side. “I heard that the fireflies first appear in the pine forest behind the cottages,” She says. “And then they… flit out over the entire village.”

“Yeah?” He places his palm flat on the bed, arm crossing her back, and she shifts more of her weight into him. “Then we should head there first.”

Annie tilts her face up to meet his eyes. “And… the people sit by the lake and drink wine and watch the fireflies. You’re supposed to watch them for a long time. On– on the first night.”

“Really? Why?”

She averts her eyes. “That’s just… what they do.”

“For how long?”

Annie rubs her nose, finding great interest on the door opposite, slightly ajar. “I don’t know. Long enough.”

He laughs, and he’s surprised at himself, but he laughs – in amusement, in a spark of happiness. That’s what being next to Annie did. She stripped away his worries and blanketed him with comfort instead. “Alright, let’s do that.”

She looks at him again, cheeks tight, and he chuckles when he realises she’s biting them to hide a happy smile. Unexpectedly, she cranes her neck up and pecks him on the lips; soft, quick, sweet. When she pulls back, he quietly regards her with an amused smile and raised eyebrows, and she gives him another kiss. 

With Annie, his worries usually melt away, flowing like a river down a slope, rushing to meet the sea where it dissolves into much calmer, larger waters. Armin hopes now will be the same. 

But it doesn’t work this time. The sea floods the shores and invades inland like a tsunami and there’s no place where the river can empty into. 

Why hadn’t Mikasa written to him?

No. He doesn’t want to think about this. Anything but this. Anything but this.  

He dips his head to kiss Annie again, and her hand curls around the back of his neck to hold him in place when she teases him by merely ghosting her lips across his. Ideally, kissing Annie shouldn’t involve the invasive and unsavoury thoughts of the pressure dangling over his head, now heavier with Mikasa’s silence, but he can’t help it; now he wants to kiss her to empty his head. But Annie’s feeling playful today and doesn’t let him, with a palm firmly pressed against his chest to keep him from inching her back onto the bed.

The door bangs open. “... we don’t have festival dresses but look what I found – some nice hairpins! Annie– oh–” Pieck stops just short of entering the room, her hands cradling a small basket.

Annie tears away from Armin, her fingers curled into a fist around his shirt, eyes wide with shock. Armin backs away as much as he can under her grip, scarlet creeping up his neck and embarrassed about being caught. 

“Oh dear,” Pieck clicks her tongue in mock-disdain. “At least lock the door if you’re going to be busy.”

“Sorry,” Armin mumbles, because in his current state of mind, he really can’t come up with anything better. He scratches at his neck awkwardly, and then gently pries Annie’s fingers off his shirt, which is now thoroughly wrinkled at the front. 

Pieck coughs to disguise her amusement. “Well. I’m sorry Armin, but you’re going to have to lend Annie to me for a while.” His cheeks heat up and he shoots to his feet.

“Pieck I–”

“Oh, it’s fine,” She giggles. “But really, I need to borrow her and this room for now. Out, please.”

And she promptly kicks him out of the room and slams the door shut. 

Embarrassed and dizzy with exhaustion, both mentally and physically, Armin makes his way downstairs where he finds the other three, fully dressed and reeking of so much cologne that it hurts his head. 

“Oh, there you are.” Connie grins. “Get ready, let’s go.”

“It’s still early though,” Armin says, glancing at the clock.

“We can look around.” Jean replies, looking visibly excited. “Eat some food. Have some fun. Come on.”

He just wants to sleep and put his mind to rest for a few hours, because it aches with all the new worry he’s added to his existing pile of stress… but he can’t. Giving in, he heads back to his room where he takes a quick shower, puts on fresh clothes and skips the cologne, because he’s certain he’ll have enough of it on him if he walks with the others for a mere five minutes. 

He’s so tired. 

Why hadn’t Mikasa written to him?

“Alright, let’s go!” Reiner cheers, as soon as he re-enters the sitting room. “Are the girls ready too?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Armin mutters, feeling another headache beginning to throb in his temples. 

“Pieck! Annie!” Jean calls from the foot of the stairs. “Are you two ready?! Come on!”

“Go ahead!” A muffled voice yells from upstairs, before footsteps thud down the steps and Pieck appears by the landing to the kitchen, a comb in her hand. “You guys go ahead. We’ll come later.”

“Fine,” Jean replies, turning away with a wave. “See you.”

“Let’s meet up at the pine forest,” Armin tells Pieck as she begins to disappear up the stairs again. “Behind the cottages?”

“Alright,” She nods with a bright smile, before pausing. “And you,” She jabs her finger at him. “Prepare to be stunned. Annie’s going to be real pretty when you see her later.” Before Armin can even react, she runs back upstairs, laughing.

He blinks in confusion, another blush creeping up his neck as the others let out low whistles of appreciation and teasing. Whatever did that mean? Annie’s going to look… different? 

“Nope, nope, no thinking of Annie until you see her, then!” Connie lands a slap on his back. “Annie thoughts are banned for now.”

“Damn right,” Jean snickers. “Come on.”

And Armin lets himself be dragged away out of the house and into the loud streets under the ever-darkening sky, telling himself that if he tries hard enough, he can enjoy tonight without any of the ugly and worrisome thoughts invading his much needed time-out. 

But he fails, and his anxiety transforms into anger instead.

Annie stares dumbfoundedly at all the fuss Pieck creates in her bathroom, humming a loud tune and arranging combs, brushes and various colourful hair accessories with such enthusiasm that Annie begins to feel a trickle of it infect her own insides. She's never been to a festival before. 

She stands by the entrance to the bathroom, where Pieck sits on the chair she dragged inside, and watches her brush her long hair neatly. Pulling her fingers through it, Pieck braids it with a ribbon threading through her locks in a series of quick and elegant twists and turns, and ties it off at the bottom. She turns her head this way and that for a final check before sticking a large colourful butterfly pin into one of the pockets. 

It's so pretty, she thinks. 

"So, what do you think?" Pieck asks, patting her hair into place and looking inquiringly at Annie through the mirror. 

"Really nice." Annie nods.

Pieck grins at her handiwork in satisfaction before getting up from the chair. "Alright," She says, beckoning her over. "Your turn. Get over here."

Annie blinks awkwardly and Pieck clicks her tongue with impatience. "Come on, Annie. I want some company for a different hairstyle."

Seated in front of the mirror, Annie stares at her reflection as her hair pulls back through the teeth of the comb held between Pieck's nimble fingers. She can't recall the last time she looked at herself properly, without something terrible on her mind that left her looks to be the least of her concern, at the bottom of the list. Her eyes follow the arch of her brows, the bridge of her nose, the dip of her cupid's bow, her lips and then… back to her eyes themselves. She wonders which part of this Armin likes the–

"You've always got your hair in a bun," Pieck cocks her head, studying her softly brushed hair between her palms. "We should try something different."

"Like what?"

Pieck's brows are furrowed in thought for roughly a minute before they relax and she brightens. "Oh, I know! A ponytail."

"A ponytail?" Annie stares at Pieck in the mirror. "How's that so different from just a bun?"

"Tsk," Pieck sighs in exasperation. "A world of difference. You'll see."

Annie gives in to the relaxing scrape of the prongs of the brush on her scalp. The sliver of sunset that burns orange through the bathroom’s frosted glass window splashes her face with fire. Pieck brushes her hair from every angle and corner possible, and by the time she puts the brush down, Annie feels her muscles resting relaxed and calm. 

But also, she feels warm all over with anticipation. 

Pieck gathers her hair at the back, smooths it together, and cleanly ties it up with a soft ribbon that dangles off the knot. "There. Now tell me it doesn't look different."

It's unfamiliar – the sway of loose hair every time she turns her head, the graze of their ends on the nape of her neck that tickles her. Annie blinks at her reflection, wide eyed and surprised. She does look different. And it's… its–

"Pretty, huh?" Pieck grins proudly, hands on her hips. "One thing is missing though." She reaches to the top of the washbasin surface and picks up a hairpin in the shape of flowers. In the sunset flooding the room, it shimmers like stained glass, throwing a million colours across the walls like shards of light. With a small smile, Pieck fastens it by the side of Annie's ponytail, the metal pin grazing her scalp as it sinks into her hair. 

"Done." 

The two girls gaze in silence at Annie's reflection. Pieck's soft smile contrasts Annie's look of disbelief. Two hands come to rest on her shoulder, and once she becomes aware of the seconds tickling by to the muffled beat of drums outside, Annie finds her voice. 

"It feels… strange."

"Hm? What does?" Pieck hums, dropping her arms around Annie's neck and placing her chin on Annie's head. 

Annie swallows nervously and makes a vague gesture at the hairbrush and the pin in her hair. "All of this…"

"Do you hate it?"

"No."

Pieck smiles and clasps her hands together where they dangle limply over Annie's front. "Well. Occasionally, it’s fun to dress up a little differently. It can make us feel good." 

Her dark eyes meet Annie's in the mirror. 

"And sometimes… we also want to look different for someone else. It's just one of the many silly things we do, but… it's nice. The effort is worth it when you know it’ll be noticed."

Annie's heart flutters and she turns her head, feeling the ponytail swing. The hairpin catches the light and dazzles the floor with a rainbow. She feels stupid and silly and nervous. How long until she gets used to feeling this way?

Pieck laughs, seeing her face. "Well let's go quick, before you feel like clawing my hard work out of your hair." 

"Target approximately six feet away, two inches across in length and breadth."

“Load.”

It is familiar to him – the muscle memory remains intact, and his deft fingers add to the simultaneous clicks of bolts being yanked forwards to force a new cartridge into place. He pushes the bolt downward and locks the lug into the receiver. He's been doing this for years, and yet this is truly the first time that he feels angry and not overwhelmingly remorseful about it.

The rifle is heavy in Armin's hands and he takes his aim. Cold and hard against his skin, it presses against his cheekbone and he squints, fingers light yet firm under the front. He points the muzzle at the ominous pair of dark, beady eyes. 

Anxious. Frustrated. Helpless. Angry. 

"You lads don't have to be this serious, y'know." The exasperated voice of the older man in his sixties comes from somewhere in the corner. "Nothing wrong with missing."

Jean chuckles with a proud smirk in his voice. “Who says we’re missing?”

What else was he supposed to have done, if not believe his own convictions? If Mikasa regretted everything, how is he supposed to fix it with dead silence? 

Anxious. Frustrated. Helpless. Angry. 

There’s nothing but tense silence in the air as all four muzzles lock into steady aim.  

"And… FIRE!"

BANG!   BANG!   BANG!   BANG!

All four mini rubber ducks are knocked clean off their mounts. Armin leans over the counter blocking the front to check if the bullet damaged anything other than the targets. Reiner whoops, ecstatic, but the booth-owner stares dully at them.

"I’ve never had grown men this excited about shooting at toy ducks. But alright, I suppose." He shrugs and then looks at them inquiringly. "Three more rounds?”

“We're in it for the prizes you promised,” Reiner beams. “But place the targets further away, will you? This is too easy.”

“How far?”

“Put them at least fifty feet away.”

“Fif–?!” The man sputters. “Lads, this booth is only twenty feet wide.”

Now it’s Connie’s turn to look exasperated. “Fine then, just move them a little further back.”

Reluctantly, the man picks up the rubber ducks and places them another ten feet away on their mounts. The distance now greater, the tiny targets are very nearly just yellow buttons. “This alright?”

“Yeah,” Jean says and the rifles rise up once again. Armin feels the handle dig into his shoulder as he presses his cheek to the cold surface once again. He clicks the bolt up, pushes it forwards, then forces it down, feeling the cartridge lodge firmly into place and the retraction of the firing pin. Squinting, he points the muzzle at the targets, but his hair falls into his eyes. Shit, he needs to get it trimmed. He brushes it back up his forehead, and takes aim again. 

There’s nobody to guide him forward; what is he supposed to do, to keep absolutely everyone happy and satisfied? Why hadn’t she written to him?

Anxious. Frustrated. Helpless. Angry. 

"And… FIRE!"

BANG!   BANG!   BANG!   BANG!

Once again, the rubber ducks go flying off their mounts, ricocheting off the thin walls with feeble squeaks. It’s quite anti-climatic, Armin thinks, as he leans over once more to check for anything else broken. But for once, the rifle feels comfortable in his arms if only because it’s plastic and guaranteed to not kill. After all, when they’d learned to use the guns four years ago, they knew that any situation they’d need to wield them would involve the deaths of other human lives.

“Fourth round!” The man calls and Armin distracts himself by readying the bullet once more. The cartridge lodges into the receiver the way worry is lodged into his heart muscles, and when he clicks the bolt down, the firing pin pulls tightly backwards, like the tension in his body. 

Why hadn’t she written to him?  

Anxious. Frustrated. Helpless. Angry.  

"And… FIRE!"

When he pulls the trigger, he tries to discharge his anger along with the bullet. 

BANG!   BANG!   BANG!   BANG!

It only works partially. 

“These feel so familiar,” Jean comments, as he inspects the rifle closely, fingers running along the bolt pin. “Like the ones we used back at home at the very beginning.”

“Good old Standardmodells,” Connie replies, raising his rifle to eye-level and squinting, pointing the muzzle at something in the distance. 

“No, Gewehr 98s,” Armin mutters under his breath, loading the next cartridge with the headache throbbing at his temples. “We got the Mausers later.” He cocks the bullet in and lodges the rifle into his shoulder again, feeling the anger build with every second his headache grows stronger. 

“Oh, right,” Connie says, frowning.

“You were really good with weapons analytics, weren’t you, Armin?” Jean says, as the man signals to them for the last round. The targets are ready, now even further away and they look like specks to Armin from this distance. He takes aim, squinting, trying to ignore the wild brew of emotions swirling inside him while also fighting down the guilt at feeling angry in the first place. 

“Really?” Reiner asks with surprise. “Armin was?”

“Yeah,” Connie loads his bullet, shoving the bolt pin down with a grunt. “He helped us take down Kenny’s squad. We’d have died if he hadn’t spotted the flaw in their gear.”

“Also ballistics. He was the best of us.” Jean grins. "And… FIRE!"

BANG!   BANG!   BANG!   BANG!

Yeah. What did any of that matter when Mikasa's silence only left him feeling like everything that happened, all of it, was because of him and his decisions alone?

The booth owner looks at them with poorly disguised irritation before disappearing behind a curtained door. Armin feels on edge and points his rifle at the ground, blowing air through his cheeks to calm himself down. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turns his head to look down the street where people fill every bit of standing space, not an inch of ground empty. Smoke from food stalls rises into the dark blanket of sky, creating a subtle contrast between navy blue and charcoal grey. 

The girls will be here soon, he thinks, blinking away the angry frown pulling at his eyebrows. Annie will be here soon. She doesn’t need to see him like this, not tonight of all nights. He brushes his overgrown bangs from his forehead and takes another deep breath.

“Alright, lads, your prizes.” The man reappears with an armful of various paraphernalia. He hands out a thick envelope to Reiner who grins like a cheshire cat – food discount coupons. Another envelope for Connie who whistles in appreciation – free spa tickets. For Armin, a small cardboard box, which he opens with the mild curiosity that pushes his anger aside for a brief moment.

A ring.

He picks it up. It’s small and transparent, and on closer inspection, he finds what looks like real moss inside the thin band of hardened resin. It’s cute, he thinks, turning it over between his fingers, before he realises–

A toy ring. So small it doesn’t look like it will fit an adult human finger. Armin sighs and puts it away in his back pocket. Fantastic. It’s not even something useful. It doesn't even surprise him, what with how "useful" never seems to fit very much in his vocabulary. And yet, he has to be the most useful person in the world now with zero guidance, and he also has to live in the darkness about why his sister miles away hasn't written back to him and only him.

“Hey, what about mine?” Jean cries in indignation. “Don’t I get one?”

“You, young man,” The man points at him, disappearing into the curtained door once more. “You get the best present yet.” He comes back with a loud grunt, dragging something heavy and large behind him.

All four boys stare with their mouths wide open. And then, three of them explode into laughter. Armin finds that not even he is immune to it – it’s absolutely ridiculous, and he finds himself laughing, slow, then hard, holding his stomach and some of the tension in his muscles dissipates. Jean doesn’t laugh, looking absolutely horrified.

“What the heck is this?!” He cries.

The roughly six and half foot tall stuffed-toy animal is dropped unceremoniously in front of Jean and the man heaves a sigh of relief, dusting his hands. “I’ve been unable to get rid of this for a long time now. But I think it’s perfect for you.”

“ Why?!”

Connie and Reiner howl in laughter, tears streaming out of their eyes. 

“It really is p–perfect for you, Jean!” Connie sputters, wiping at his cheeks. “Just perfect!” 

“It’s not funny!” Jean snaps, glaring at the large brown heap lying pathetically by his feet. Armin bends down to pick it up and discovers with shock that it’s surprisingly heavy. With a grunt, he lifts it up and props it against Jean’s frame. The long head falls affectionately around his neck. Taking a step back, he admires it. It’s terrifyingly tall, and in comparison, Jean looks pale and limp.  

“Well,” Armin coughs, trying to summon some consolation in his voice. “At least it’s not a horse.”

“Is that… is that supposed to make me feel better?” Jean asks, sounding incredulous and pained at the same time, ignoring Connie and Reiner rolling on the ground, crying. “What am I supposed to DO with this?! Why does it even exist?! Who made this?!”

Armin looks away with a smile, feeling considerably lighter in spirit, and less angry. It’s okay, he thinks, as he looks at the hustle and bustle of the village. It’s okay, he repeats, when they make a move from the shooting booth and down the winding street, brightly lit up with lights and aromatic with the scents of freshly cooking food and garlands of flowers. It’s crowded, it’s busy, it’s festive. It’s okay, he tells himself again, when they stop by a cotton candy station, and fish out their money. It’s okay, he repeats once more when they step off the path and onto the meadow which teems with people enjoying the summer night, waiting for the fireflies.

“Jean, you’re the star attraction here,” Reiner snickers as they wait on the grass for Connie to return with drinks. “All the girls here are in love with you and your uh… little companion.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jean glares daggers at him. “I couldn’t leave it anywhere.” He winces when yet another group of girls passes by, giggling at the sight of the large animal draped around his neck and tucked under his arms. It looks lumpy and ridiculous. Armin ducks his head to hide another smile. Ah, he feels much better. Finally. 

“I got us rice wine.” Connie heads over to them from a makeshift stall by the border of the meadows, his fingers clutched around four paper-cups of cloudy liquid. “It smells sweet.”

Reiner takes a sip and hums. “Oh, it’s good.”

A hand in his pocket, Armin brings the cup to his lips, eyes taking in the cheerful crowd around them. It's a full moon night and despite being summer, the air is cool and his shirt doesn’t stick to his skin. The other three start bickering away about everything and nothing in particular and he drowns it out, focusing on the sound of the music and drums. The bridge is lit up with tiny lights along the sides and it throngs with people. Beyond the lake, the settlement too, is vibrantly lit with lanterns hanging from the trees, and grills glowing from the fire within. The lake shimmers and sparkles with the reflections of the festivities and with a smile, he notes how the figures on the meadows are both Eldian and Kaldian, mingling together.

Finally, he feels a little peaceful, and lets the worry over Mikasa’s silence slip through his fingers for the night. 

"We should head to the pine forest, maybe the girls are already there." Connie says, tossing his empty paper cup into a nearby wastebasket. 

"Right," Reiner echoes, still sipping his wine as they slowly make their way toward the bridge. “Speaking of girls, there’s one girl that somebody really wants to see, isn’t that right?” Reiner throws a sly grin his way and Armin looks startled, quickly turning a faint pink. Shit, he’d totally forgotten about that. 

“Oh, Pieck said something about making her look pretty,” Jean grins, his humiliating animal bundle momentarily forgotten at the expense of teasing Armin. “Hmph. Lucky you.” 

Armin turns away, knocking back the wine down his throat to hide the growing heat on his cheeks. He wonders what Pieck meant by that. Is Annie going to be… dressed differently? Is she going to have her hair down…? Or maybe she's going to have some colour on her lips? The more his mind wanders between the various possibilities, the hotter his face becomes, and much to his chagrin, Connie peers into his face and spots it with a loud triumphant cry. 

"Ha! Look at him, he can't stop smiling!"

"Quit it," Armin mumbles, unable to keep his face straight. Tossing his cup into another nearby wastebasket, he jerks his chin at the cottages far ahead, glowing with light and laughter. "Come on."

The four begin to cross the bridge, Jean mumbling apologies to everyone he involuntarily thwacks with the large mammal under his arms, Reiner brandishing two long sticks of cotton candy high up in the air, and Connie wearing a painted face mask on the back of his head. Armin trails behind them, feeling warm and the most relaxed he's been over the past several weeks. He watches them, observing their bickering and squabbling, and then he thinks of Annie, her apparent joy this morning on reading Hitch's letter and then her secret smile on reading Mikasa's–

His stomach turns. Just a bit. Armin focuses on the planks of wood and his footsteps on them to put away the disturbing thought. 

Annie. Annie’s… going to look a little different, he thinks, and finds himself once again, falling back into peace. Peace and some kind of boyish excitement that almost has him feeling nervous, like the time he sat with her on the boat. Peace and a soothing sense of comfort that thinking of her always brought him. Peace and–

But his peace doesn’t last long enough.

“–er! Commander!” A familiar voice cuts through the noise behind him jostling him out of his thoughts. “Commander!” Turning around, he spots Helga hurrying forwards, face flushed red as if she’s been running. “Oh thank god I found you!”

No. No. His heart begins a slow descent. “What’s wrong?” He asks, noticing the bundle of paper in her arms with alarm. No. Please no. Not tonight.

Helga comes to a stop, panting furiously before she manages to speak. “I’m so sorry, but you’re needed back at the office. The invites to the other nations are final and they need your signature and seal. Immediately.”

Armin’s throat goes dry. “But Helga, it’s… it’s a holiday, we’re not– I mean– the festival–”

She grimaces. “I’m sorry, Commander. But the postal ship came back with enough fuel to make a full round trip, so we can’t have her wait. You know… fuel is scarce and she’s got other stops to make…”

He feels dizzy. Slowly, he turns back around to see the other three standing there, looking between him and Helga with disappointment evident on their faces.

“I’ll go if you want,” Reiner offers. 

“Or I can go. You can just say you delegated the signing to me.” Jean says.

“Same here.” Connie shrugs. 

But Armin looks at them all. Reiner with his cotton candy, finally able to enjoy a festival that the Scouts had stolen from them back in Liberio. Jean, looking ridiculous with the stuffed-animal draped around his frame, but with that wide arrogant grin on his face that Armin recognizes from their blissful training days. Connie, relaxed and whistling a tune Armin hadn’t heard since the Ragako incident. All three of them, letting loose in the infectious mood of a festival in this country that was kind. 

He can’t possibly steal that from them.

And so the exhaustion comes crashing back into his body like a landslide, sweeping away everything else in its path. His spirits plummet, his heart sinks. His bones hurt. His lungs ache. He feels heavy and tired and slow when he shakes his head at them. 

“It’s fine. I’ll go.” He raises a hand in a light wave as he steps forward to leave with Helga. “I’ll be back soon. You guys carry on.”

Braving the dejection with a deep inhale, Armin turns and follows Helga off the bridge. His head immediately clogs with all the thoughts he’d filed away for the time being, to be retrieved and made use of only after the festival was behind them. His neck feels stiff when he tilts his head back to look at the night sky, luminous with the full moon. The smoke still rises, from fires, from grills, from torches. The laughter flutters up into the air, as do greetings and jokes between friends, between families, between lovers. Cups of wine are raised to the sky with hopes and dreams filled to the brim. Crossing across the meadows, he watches a young couple laughing as they slip away from the crowd and into the darkness someplace beyond.

The fireflies still aren’t out. But he probably won’t see them at all.

Resignation.

After all, how can anything be more important than this repair work? How can anything come between his time and uniting humanity? 

Priorities.

A better world. His friends. Paradis. Annie. 

And perhaps a better world would always be the first. 

If Annie thought she’d seen a festival at Fort Salta, well, then she’d seen nothing. 

Smoke billows into her face from all directions and she coughs, waving it away with her hands as she tries hard to keep up with Pieck’s quick pace. The drum beat is deafening and nearly takes out her eardrums. The lights are blinding and brilliant and it takes her several blinks and squints to adjust her vision. She’s never seen the streets this crowded before.

“I didn’t even know so many people lived in this village!” Pieck laughs as she makes a beeline to a corn stand. “Two, please!”

The ribbon in her braid fluttering in the breeze much like the paper streamers from awnings and tree branches, Pieck’s eyes shine with the novel thrill and excitement in the air. The more Annie looks at her, the more she feels the contagious spirit of the festival seep into herself. A dozen screaming children race past her, almost knocking her over. When she starts to adjust to the din and noise, the aromas and the smoke, she begins to find herself smiling and looking forward to what more she can find behind every curtained door. 

“Miss! Come try this new—”

“Young lady, I’ll give you a discount for—”

“Miss! Over here!”

“Welcome, welcome!”

“Special coconut-milk sweets! Special coconut-milk sweets!”

“Watch out!” Pieck yanks her away from the middle of the street when a large float on wheels rumbles slowly down the path, men and women around it and on top of it, torching a gigantic makeshift cloth-stuffed firefly statue perched on top. It takes a few minutes to alight, but it soon goes up in flames, making the surrounding areas glow brightly. The tall flames spitting and crackling into the sky, Annie watches it travel down the street as people clap wildly and cheer into the air.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” She whispers, the burning firefly still reflected in her eyes. “It’s… beautiful.”

“As is this whole festival,” Pieck chuckles, taking a lick of a slice of pineapple on a stick. “Want some? These are good.”

“Thanks.” The pineapple is sweet and sour and salty and spicy and she notes pleasantly that it’s covered with a watery juice of chilly powder and sugar as well. The explosion of tastes on her tongue is new, fresh and she chuckles at how good it is.

“Hello miss!” A young man approaches her and Pieck with a large soap blower in his hands. “Here, give it a try.”

Pieck laughs, “Thank you!” She takes a deep breath before blowing air into the plastic ring, sending a shower of rainbow-hued bubbles high into the sky where they float with the wind.

“Come on,” Pieck tugs at her. “Let’s head to the pine forest, maybe the boys are already there.”

Feeling quite nervous for no reason – or maybe the reason is the swinging ponytail at the back of her head – Annie follows Pieck across the meadows where people mill around with cups and fireworks in their hands. The moon is full and luminous in the sky and would’ve been enough to light up the village and lake even without all the lanterns. Sticks of pineapple in their hands, the sugary and spicy water dribbling down their fingers, they make their way across the bridge slowly.

Annie is surprised to see how many of the people crowding together along the length and breadth of the bridge are couples. Most young. Some are older. Some are entire families. In any case, they stand close together, arms around each other, sharing drinks and food and inside jokes, watching the lights reflected on the lake. It’s with a flip in her stomach that she realises how much she wants to be one such couple on the bridge, or by the side of the lake or, really, anywhere will do as long as she can see the fireflies reflected in his blue eyes. Face feeling hot and more aware of the weight of her ponytail than ever before, she follows Pieck off the bridge and to the pine forest.

God, she’s so silly for believing in such a stupid myth. Annie slaps her cheeks roughly to snap herself out of it.

They find the boys rather easily, what with how noisy and big they are. Connie and Reiner argue over the proper way to light fireworks, large glasses of golden beer in their hands. The pine forest on their right is dense and dark, and Annie can only imagine how beautiful it would be when the fireflies finally emerge from them.

“Hey boys,” Pieck announces their arrival, tossing her now bare pineapple stick into the grass. “Starting fireworks without us? That’s unfair.”

Jean comes out from between two cottages and spots them first. “Oh, hey—” He stops when he notices Pieck – her hair specifically – and goes red in the face. “Oh—uh—yeah… hey.”

Annie rolls her eyes.

Pieck crouches down beside Connie, picking a small firework off a stack. “Here, light this.”

Connie snickers. “Before that, I think Jean should give you your present first.” He winks at Jean, “Isn’t that right? You said you’d give it to her. Go on.”

“Present?” Pieck blinks, confused.

“It’s nothing,” Jean mumbles, as Annie bends down to pick another firework from the stack, her eyes looking for a familiar face.

“You have something for me?” Pieck rises to her feet.

“Jean, stop being a chicken and give her what you won.”

“Goddamnit, Connie, I was joking.”

“If you have a present for me, it’s rude to not give it.” Pieck folds her arms and stares at Jean. He gulps nervously.

“Fuck it then. Fine,” He grumbles, disappearing between the cottages once again.

“You’ll like it, Pieck,” Reiner chortles, sharing a look with Connie. “It’s… larger than life.” They snort.

Annie takes a step backward, then several steps forward, searching the place for Armin. Where is he?

Pieck shrieks when something large and brown lands on her. “What the hell?!”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Jean mutters. “You can have it.”

“But what is this?!” Pieck bends down to inspect it – an abnormally large stuffed toy. “It’s gigantic.”

“It’s a camel, of course.”

Reiner suddenly starts laughing, his glass of beer falling to the grass.

Pieck stares at Jean, then at the toy, then back at him. “Jean, this is a giraffe.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know the difference.”

“Wh-?!” She twists her lips into disgust before heaving the toy up and smacking him with the ridiculously long head. “How can you not know the difference between a camel and a giraffe?!”

“Well, we didn’t have— hey! Stop that! Ouch! ”

“God, you’re such an island bumpkin!”

“Excuse me?! ”

“What use do I have for this?!”

“I don’t know, put it in your room, plenty of vegetation in there—”

“You absolute–!”

Annie doesn’t laugh. She barely even notices any of the ruckus. She nudges Connie and asks him quietly, “Where is Armin?”

He grimaces and her heart sinks immediately. “Ahh, well… he was called away to the office on some urgent business.” Connie's eyes widen when her face and shoulders fall and he quickly adds, “He’ll be here soon! He said so.”

“Really,” Annie deadpans. “How long has it been?” 

He winces, looking away. “Uh… around two hours now…?”

She sighs, feeling miserable. That does it, then. He’s gone, and he isn’t coming back any time soon. Disappointment flooding her bloodstream, Annie turns on her heel and marches back to the bridge. The unlit firework in her hands is tossed to the grass somewhere behind her, where it will likely grow cold and damp.

She’s used to this. Of things not going according to plan, of failure, of trying, again and again and again. And yet this time, it hurts, more than the Sunday date that was stolen away by work. Crossing her arms, hugging herself, she strides across the bridge in angry steps. She’s really more annoyed with herself than him. 

It was stupid after all, to fall for a silly myth. If she just hadn’t gotten excited over it, she probably wouldn’t be this upset. Annie avoids looking at the couples all around her, choosing to blink rapidly to contain the heat in her eyes, and count the wooden planks under her shoes instead.

“Miss Leonhardt!” Someone grabs her arm and she jerks backward in an unpleasant motion. “Sorry, sorry!” A guy with messy black hair and green eyes stands in front of her, a little out of breath. “I saw you walking and I just–”

Annie scowls at him. She’s never seen him before, how does he even know her name?

He chuckles. “My name is Kári. Felipe is my friend, it’s how I know you.”

She waits. So?

Kári gives her a confident smirk that pisses her off instantly. “Would you like to have a drink with me? We can find somewhere, uh,” He looks around. “A little less crowded.” He brings up his hands and she notices two paper cups filled to the brim. “How about it?” 

Annie’s eyebrows pulse with annoyance. This is all wrong. The wrong person entirely. Goddamnit.  

“No thanks,” She manages to say with a light voice as she brushes past him. “I’m not a drinker.” 

Kári says something but she doesn’t hear it, far too lost in her own disappointment. She climbs the hill, too fast, too angry with the stupid ponytail swaying behind her, too fucking upset. 

Of course it would be this way. Of course. Armin was a busy man now. Too important.

Of course fixing the stupid world would always take precedence, and she can’t even blame him for it, because it's really not his fault.

But she misses him so much.

Silly things like going on dates and believing in flowery myths weren’t for girls like her.

On top of it all, Mikasa's words from the letter echo in her head, and feeling much too lonely, Annie goes home.

Armin's knee bounces relentlessly and every ten minutes, he steals a glance at the clock. He’s already been here for two hours, and with each second that ticks by, he grows more and more despondent. He’s never going to get out of here tonight. The night isn’t his.

Pen cap between his teeth, he signs paper after paper. Each invite is drafted and worded differently, to reflect the personal relationship between Kald and that nation. Each word double checked, then triple checked, because the last thing anybody needed was to sour relations by choosing to host the Paradisians. The countries beyond Kald were all quite small and they were many. The twenty percent of humanity, though a small percentage, was still a large number and they needed to all be on the same plane of understanding come Fall.

And the power of good hospitality could not be underestimated.

And so Armin sits here, reading and re-reading the invites to make sure they aligned both Kald’s and Paradis’ interests with those of the other nations and asking Helga to scratch off and re-draft where necessary. 

His head hurts. His heart weighs a ton. He’s so tired. No, the night isn’t his. 

Priorities. 

He will never be just another ordinary person. No, he will always be the Commander of the Survey Corps who beheaded Eren Jaeger, Devil of Paradis, and he will always put the world over all else.

He has to get used to this life now.

Armin feels guilty for even feeling this way – his superiors wouldn’t have complained. Commanders Erwin and Hange would always have prioritised what was important over their own lives. He should do the same. Obviously, he should do the same. There shouldn’t even be a question about it.

And yet … he’s so tired. 

“How many left?” He mutters and Helga looks up from her seat where she’s busy affixing Kald’s national seals on the approved invites.

“Six,” She replies, sounding just as exhausted, and he tries to shove his gloom out of his mind. She’s missing the festival as much as he is. The office is hot and stifling and he wants to rip his hair out. 

Armin glances at the clock again. Two hours, thirty minutes. He wonders if the fireflies are out and what the others are doing. 

And Annie. She’s probably disappointed in him.

He draws a deep breath and skims his tired eyes over the next invite. “Uh, is Osneau the country which blocked trade with us for–”

“Yes, that’s the– yes, the difficult one,” Helga suppresses a yawn. “Is there any problem with their invitation?”

“Uh,” Armin reads so fast the words become a blur by the time he reaches the end. “No, it’s fine.”

“Alright. Then I’ll–”

The door bursts open and a young man Armin knows to be another secretary tumbles in. “Helga, is the Comman– Ah, Commander! I was looking for you everywhere!”

“What’s wrong?” Armin asks, hoping against hope that it isn’t yet another urgent matter that demands his attention tonight. Still, with all the gloom casting shadows in his mind, his shoulders begin to slump before another word is uttered.

“I’ve got something for you,” The young man reaches into his coat pocket and fishes out an envelope, offering it to Armin. “This just reached us. The master of the ship found it only this afternoon, said it had gotten lost somewhere between the–”

Armin stands up and snatches it out of his hands as goosebumps wrack a shiver down his spine.

He knows this handwriting.

He knows it.

His heart lodges itself in his throat when he tears the envelope open with trembling hands and unfolds the yellow sheet of crinkly paper.

Dear Armin,

 

I'm so glad you're safe. I received so many letters but I was the happiest to read yours. Kald sounds like a beautiful place. I'm happy you were able to find a home there, for now.

Eren is at peace.

The tree wasn't damaged, and it looked happy to see us back, I think. Now it's healthy. I visit Eren everyday. It's been two months, and the small flower seeds I planted next to him are starting to sprout leaves.

We were always together, the three of us, but now we're split up in different places and dimensions. But my place is by Eren's side, you know that. For now, that's all I'm capable of doing. Perhaps some day in the future, I'll be able to join you... I wonder how many great things you would have accomplished by then.

But Armin... it's tough isn't it?

I'm sorry for leaving you like that. I'm sorry I burdened you. It was selfish of me but... I hope you'll forgive me for it.

It's a heavy weight to carry. But I'm sure you can do it. I'm certain Eren left the world to you knowing what you're capable of, and I have the same faith in you. You have the others with you, and you're always in my thoughts and my heart.

However, Armin... remember to live. Please, don't forget to live. Don't let the weight of the world drag you down. Sometimes, you can just let go.

In Odiha, Annie told me she just wanted to live a quiet, peaceful life with you.

You don't have to be the Commander of the Survey Corps every day.

 

I visited our military headquarters a week back. It was surprisingly intact. I found your book. I also found your mother's handkerchief and your father's compass in your cupboard. I brought them back with me. The next time I write, I'll send them along to you .

 

I'll be waiting here, with Eren.

We love you.

Mikasa.

Of course. 

His head clears. 

His chest lightens.

Why hadn’t he ever thought of it that way?

It’s so simple. That easy. Why hadn’t he ever thought of it like this? 

He doesn’t have to be a Commander every day. 

A soft rustle makes Armin look up from the letter to see Helga and the other young man watching him in astonishment. 

“You’re… crying…” Helga points out quietly, and he blinks, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. He wipes it away, with equal surprise. 

He has to go. 

“Sorry,” Armin says, gathering his things quickly. “But Helga, I’m leaving for now.” He picks up his pen and seal and thrusts it into her hands. “You can sign on my behalf and place the seal. Don’t worry, I have faith in you. You have more experience than me anyway.”

“But wait–” She yelps. “What about Paradis–”

“You can use the other invites as a reference!” He calls over his shoulder as he runs out the door. “Sorry! But I’m off-duty now!”

And he’s running down the streets lit up in red and gold, blue and green, feeling the lightest he’s felt in so many weeks. The crowd is strong and thick and he has to once again weave through them, but his steps are weightless and agile as he darts past the noisy market, over the meadows where people have begun to sprawl on the grass with their nth drinks raised to the skies, and across the crowded bridge. The lanterns burn vibrantly and he thinks he’s never seen so many different colours before. 

Mikasa. She didn't hate him after all. All is okay. Everything is still okay. 

“Sorry,” He murmurs as he accidentally steps on someone. “Sorry, excuse me.” If only he’d realized it a little sooner, he grimaces, glancing at the sky as he makes his way hurriedly through the horde of people. If only he’d realized it a little sooner, he wouldn’t have sacrificed so many precious moments he could’ve had with the others. With his new family. With Annie. 

The fireflies still aren’t out yet.

On the other side, he looks for the others. Running past the set of cottages spread across the land, he finds the line of trees bordering the pine forest and jogs along the perimeter. It’s not hard to find them – they’re the loudest – and his spirits lift. Reiner, Jean and Pieck laugh as they light small fireworks and it shoots off the stem in violent, beautiful sparks.

“Hey!” He calls as he approaches. Connie turns around, a large glass of beer in his hands.

“Armin! You’re back!” He beams and immediately reaches toward a pile of glasses he proceeds to fill with drinks. “Finally! Come and drink!”

Armin sweeps his eyes over them but stops in his tracks when he doesn’t find the person he wants to see the most. 

“Where’s Annie?”

“Ohh, Annie…” Connie frowns, slurring in his speech a little. “I remember she came. Then she went away somewhere.”

“Where?” 

“Uh, I don’t know,” Connie takes a long swig of his beer. “Oh, she asked for you before she left– wait, where are you going?!”

Ah, fuck. Armin’s already running back, searching across the length and breadth of the settlements for the glint of pale-blonde hair. People everywhere, of all sizes and kinds, singing, grilling food, drinking, dancing to music played and music sung. Too many people and Annie’s so small, she could be literally anywhere.

“Commander, come join us!” He gets caught in a group of celebrating young women and men, and he has to extricate himself with excuses spilling from his mouth.

“Sorry, sorry, I really can’t right now,” He apologises with a distracted smile, eyes still searching over the top of the sea of heads for one person in particular. “Later! I’ll come by later!”

But she’s not anywhere on this side of the lake that he can find, so he runs up the steps of the congested bridge once again, making his way across and through the throng of people. 

“Commander Arlert!” An unfamiliar voice greets him from ahead and Armin blinks when he comes face to face with Kári by the middle of the bridge, holding two paper cups of rice wine, and grinning at him. “It’s good to see you! I just met Miss Leonhardt and–”

“You saw Annie?” Armin’s heart jumps into his throat. Kári looks a little startled.

“Uh, yeah, she was going that way,” He points toward the village. “I wanted to share a drink with her but– wait, where are you going?!”

Fucking hell! Armin takes off, furiously cutting through the jam-packed bridge.

“Will she come back?” Kári yells at him. Armin doesn’t bother to pause. 

“No, no she won’t!”

And he races across the rest of the distance and over the meadows where other people call out to him, but he doesn’t hear it. After weeks of almost not seeing her at all, he wants to see her, properly see her, and be with her. 

God, he’s been so neglectful. So wrapped up in his work that he wasn’t living at all. Functioning, not living. He’s gotten it all wrong, upside down, inside out. How could he have thought that sacrificing the present would guarantee a bright future? If he didn’t live now, then when would he? It’s all the little moments in the present that lead to the future after all, how could he have been so stupid as to forget that? He laughs at his own absurdity as he runs up the village street. 

Priorities.

A better world. His friends. Paradis. Annie. 

Which comes first?

All of it. None of it. 

But tonight, it’s certainly not the world. 

He runs, eyes frantically searching for a flash of familiar blonde, for the light blue of her eyes, between the people, behind the smoky curtains of restaurants, in the rainbow-hued reflections of bubbles from a soap blower. Past the market that looks unrecognisable with the number of newly set up stalls, past the bakeries which call out to him with the scents of a thousand delicious breads, past the chocolate shop, past the crowd of rowdy young men holding beers to the sky and singing out of tune. Past all of it he runs, his legs carrying him like the wind. 

“Hey, Commander!”

“Commander, have a look at–”

"Look, that's the Commander from the Island of Paradis!"

“Commander–”

No. No, he’s not a Commander tonight. He’s not anything tonight.

He’s just a boy.

Liberation.

Oxygen lacking in his lungs and exhilarated laughter spilling from his mouth, he keeps going, going, sprinting uphill, feeling his legs cramp and pull several muscles, but he keeps going, because he’s alive, he’s just a boy, he’s going to live, live to see the sky, the beautiful blue summer sky. 

And then he sees it. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, from the low branches of the trees lining the street, from behind the paper streamers fluttering in the breeze.

Fireflies.

Tiny twinkling lights emerge from the darkness and a collective hush falls over the village as the hillside blankets in a dome of glowing summer fireflies. They rise into the moonlit sky and his gaze follows their slow, meandering path up the slope, feeling his heart soar into the sky much like them, weightless, like a summer cloud.

Now they fly with him, guiding him in the direction of their ivy-covered house and he closes his eyes, feeling the cool night breeze kiss his skin.

The world sits on his shoulders. He would not abandon it. Cannot, would not. Because at the end of the day, he does want to make it better, for him, for the others, for lives long gone, lives not yet born.

But perhaps it can wait for him to live, too.

He’s just a boy, running up a hill to see the sky. 

Shoes thudding against the stone path, he glances up ahead, where the house comes into better view and his racing heart screeches to a stop. There's a single light burning on the second floor, and it comes from her room. 

God , he’s just a boy going to see the sky.

But there’s only one sky he wants to see.

Armin sharply swerves into their garden and throws the front door of the house open, dashing into the foyer. Shoes go flying into some corner of the corridor when he runs up the steps, two at a time. He’s never felt lighter before, never felt so happy, never felt so liberated.

He doesn’t want to waste a single second anymore. He’ll live, live with her, in the now, soak in her happiness, her tears, her love, her laughs, her movements, her life. 

The chink of light from under her door makes his heart want to jump from his throat and run off screaming. But it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t matter. He just wants to see– he pushes the door open.

His chest alights with fire.  

Annie turns to face him, looking shell-shocked, hands in the midst of working a dazzling flowery hairpin out of her… ponytail. 

Catching his breath and panting heavily, he stands there, in her open doorway, feeling all his nerve endings spark as he takes in how she looks. 

He’s just a boy, who wants to see the summer sky. 

And the sky is in her eyes.

He crosses the distance and kisses her. 

Chapter Text

Hot … 

… The temperature between her lips, when he pulls away ever so slightly, to let out the breath he didn't realise he's been holding in since he first saw her. 

Heated…

… Her skin, where he’s got his fingers cupped around her jaws, to tilt her chin up to meet his mouth. His thumbs brush along the curves of her cheekbones and he watches the soft sigh that escapes her parted lips, a sigh that tells him she’s craved this touch – his touch – for too long.

Intense…

… Her eyes, when they flutter open, with long eyelashes fringed gold in the dim light of the room. The blue within rises to meet his own and he’s almost rendered mute. They’re sharp and soft, cautious and inviting, and so warm despite the icy shade he’s grown to love so much. Eyes like the daylight sky, they expand into the dark pupils of night whenever they focus on him and him alone. 

Sad…

… Her eyes, when she pulls back with the soft pressure of a palm against his shoulder. Pale, clear blue dulls with the veil of disappointment that fast covers her beautiful irises, and his heart drops into the pits of his stomach carrying all guilt he deserves to feel. 

This summer night, cool thus far, is suddenly quite humid, and the heat is high between their bodies when he’s standing so close to her with his feet touching hers. The soft beam of light from the orange street lamp outside, floods the room. The house is quiet, the room is quiet, and the festival is far, far away, save for the fireflies flitting between the branches of the trees outside her window. 

"Aren't you going back?" She asks, dropping her eyes to the floor.

He's messed up so badly, and his heart constricts in his gut. Armin shakes his head, and peers into her face, trying to get her to look at him again. 

"No," He replies softly, cupping a cheek of hers with his whole palm, the tips of his fingers grazing her brushed back hair. "I'm not going anywhere." 

Annie still doesn't look at him even though she covers his hand with one of her own. She blinks, several times, and he sees her throat working – and his guilt weighs a kiloton. No, no, the last thing he ever wants is for her to cry because of him, because of his stupidity. 

"Annie, please look at me." He pleads.

She finally does, and her eyes are moist, glistening with tears unshed. Armin doesn't plan on letting them roll down her face, so he lifts her chin up and she blinks them back. 

"But you're so important now and you have so many important things to do." She says, sounding defeated.

"No, no," Armin leans in close until the tip of his nose is pressed to hers. "Right now I'm… nothing.” He slants his head. “Just nothing." His lips brush hers. "Just yours."

Annie looks at him. "Mine?"

They're so close, and the intensity of the gaze between them is enough to spark electricity. "All yours." He whispers. 

"All night?" She asks, the question a mere breath of air. 

"All night." He breathes into the space between her lips. "Longer. Whatever you want." 

Then, she parts her lips wider and lets him in, tugging him closer with her hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt. No doubt he's the one who deprived her of all the touches she was supposed to get, but he's just as starved for her as she is, if not more. He kisses her with a searing pressure, his hands leaving her face to travel downward, until he finds her waist, and digs his fingers into the slender curve there, drawing a breathless gasp from her mouth and into his. Armin tilts his head the other way to kiss her deeper, deeper; the humidity driving his coherence into the high clouds, and he decides then, to kiss her like she’s never been kissed before, to put all their past make-outs to shame. 

So he walks her backwards, to the closest flat surface. Annie steps on him a few times, returning each slide of his lips along hers with fiery passion. He cracks his eyes open to see where they’re heading and places a palm flat on the wall that her back hits with a soft thud. Annie’s arms climb over his shoulders to wrap around his neck and she rises on her tiptoes to meet his height better. 

God, how he’s missed her. 

“Pineapple?” Armin murmurs when he breaks the kiss to angle his head better, catching her lips in another passionate round. 

“Mmm,” She hums in response, too intent on licking at his bottom lip until she gets what she wants – his open mouth and his tongue teasing hers in turns. He nudges her head back with his nose and sucks on her tongue, getting her to moan softly. Her knees threaten to give, and he faintly registers a foot sliding up his left leg. 

Briefly pulling away, Armin bends to grip the back of her thighs and picks her up with a soft grunt. Annie immediately wraps her legs around his waist, sighing pleasurably as she locks her ankles behind him, trapped between his body and the wall. 

He gazes up at her, and she holds it with half lidded eyes and soft pants through hard-kissed lips. With every slow blink, the disappointment in her eyes fades, desire and need dilating her pupils instead. A light blush dusts the apples of her cheeks, and her fingers play with the stiff band of the collar behind his neck. His gaze travels upwards, to her hair gathered in a ponytail, now sitting a little to the side from the impact of pinning her against the wall. He’d never pictured her like this, but realises he couldn’t have anyway – she’s too ethereal to belong to any of his imaginings.

“What?” Annie whispers, her eyes fixed resolutely on his lips. 

“It’s just…” Armin sighs, somewhat overwhelmed with how stunning she looks. “Your hair…”

She blinks in confusion for a second before she seems to become aware of it. “Oh, yeah.” She mutters, and much to his alarm, reaches up to try and pull it loose. 

“No, can you… keep it on?” He implores, fighting down the urge to kiss her until she goes blank instead. “I want to see you like this.”

Her blush deepens, and somehow, it taunts him. “Like this?” She repeats, obviously liking the sound of that by the way her legs tighten around him, and, oh, it taunts him, and he thinks hazily that she might have to forgive him for this as well – for letting go of the filter in his mouth tonight.

“Like this,” He replies, eyes falling closed as he leans up to ghost kisses along the slant of her jaw. Annie’s breath hitches. “I want to see you like this all night.” It’s the last thing he says before he pushes her harder against the wall, sucking at the hinge of her jawbone and squeezing her thighs at the same time. She gasps, fingers rising at once to rake through his hair, and he hums in the satisfaction of getting the desired reaction, pressing more kisses down her neck. 

But this isn’t enough, it’s not enough at all, he’s growing too hot, and he wants her hotter, so with a firm grip on her legs around his waist, Armin draws away from the wall. His mouth teasing the junction between her neck and shoulder, he begins to walk toward the bed. When his knees knock against the wooden frame, he carefully pitches forward, and gently prying her legs off, drops her on the soft mattress where she lands on her back with a bounce. 

Annie invites him eagerly when he climbs over her to continue where he left off. The ease with which her legs spread open to welcome his hips turns him on, incredibly so, and when he latches on to her neck again, he doesn’t hesitate to run his teeth down her jugular. She likes this, he knows, teeth on skin, and he nips at every little patch and dot of her neck he’s found to be sensitive.

“Oh…” She’s sighing heavily, hands sweeping over his back in all directions before they finally slide down his front to find the placket of buttons on his shirt. She fiddles with them; any button she finds first comes undone, but her fingers come to a shaking halt when Armin presses urgent, hot kisses down her chest over her thin shirt. It must be the scent of her skin, or the sounds of her low sighs, but he’s finding it incredibly hard to be gentle. He can recall so many of his fantasies where he was anything but gentle, but recognizes vaguely that tonight might be too early to take inspiration from any of them. 

Annie, however, doesn’t seem to share this sentiment. Thin cotton shorts riding high up her thighs, her hips rise off to press flush against the growing bulge in his pants, and she rolls her body sensually. She’s dying for some friction, but it brings his rational thinking to a screeching stop. 

“Shit– Annie,” Armin hisses, backing away from her neck, wet trails from his tongue glistening on the long, slender column of her throat. “Don’t do that so soon.”

Annie opens her eyes to look at him, a frustrated frown knitting her brows together. “You’re… always saying that…” She complains, although her voice is breathy and high. It only turns him on even more. “I need to feel you.” She adds, going back to unbuttoning his shirt now that he’s not distracting her. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for three weeks.”

He blinks at her slowly, head clouding over with mad desire. 

God, yeah, that does it. Annie’s going to have to forgive him for several things he’s about to lose control over tonight. 

Armin dives back down to kiss her on the mouth, and slips a hand up her shirt, sliding it along her sides, pressing– no, squeezing tight and she shivers with a gasp against his tongue. Her hips fall away, but he fixes this problem by pressing his own into hers, hard, pinning her body down on the sheets.

She likes this too, he knows.

“Mm–!” Annie flinches into him, fingers digging into his shoulders with a long, slow moan that he swallows with pleasure. It’s unbelievable how good she feels even through all these layers of clothes, and he thinks of how she’s proven him so very wrong in several areas of his imagination.

For one, she’s so, so sensitive. He pulls apart for air with a groan in his throat from the delicious friction between their bodies. Armin had never expected Annie to be this sensitive – everywhere he touches, he sets on fire – but as he dips his head down to her exposed stomach, planting open mouthed kisses upward from her navel, she’s trembling under him with shallow moans escaping her lips.

“I– ah–” She moans again, turning her head into the pillow and dragging her fingers through his hair. He breathes on, then kisses, then licks every inch of taut, defined muscle in her stomach, all the while trying to keep himself on sane ground for now. Moving up, up, between her ribcage, his nose pushes her shirt upwards, until the fabric traps under her upper back and blocks him from going further. 

Heart racing and feeling feverish, Armin sits up straight on his knees, and takes her fingers, pulling her upwards by the hands in a wordless request for her to sit up so he can strip her down, and strip her bare. Annie folds her legs underneath her as she begins to lift the hem of her shirt, but he takes over and helps pull it over her head. It leaves her hair a little messy, leaves her wearing a pretty blush on her cheeks, leaves her watching his eyes immediately drop to the black bra still blocking his view of her chest, much to his annoyance.

But before he can begin to discard what's left of her clothes, Annie turns around, her back facing him, a hand twisting behind her to thumb at the hooks of her bra. 

"Do you want me to show you again?" She asks softly, glancing over her shoulder at him, a little embarrassed, a little bold, a little of everything in between. "Watch?"

Armin barely hears her, distracted at once by the sight of her back. The graceful nape of her neck, expanding into elegant shoulders, sharp shoulder blades cradled into the rectangular outline created by the elastic straps of her bra, the dip of her spine in between, curving concave as it runs down her back, and then–

–the racing, wild thoughts in his head very quickly sober up. And for good reason.

He’s never seen them himself, but he knows what she endured to get them. Not one memory, not two, not three, but many memories had tormented him day and night with images he wished he’d never seen, of experiences he’d wished she’d never been through. 

This smattering of scars on her lower back, sitting just above the waistband of her shorts; faded and faint, nothing in appearance more than long, linear lines of slightly lighter skin… but there’s still pain in them, pain and agony in how they were given to her. 

There’s a promise he has to keep and perhaps, he’ll start tonight.

"Armin?" Annie throws another glance at him, confused by his sudden silence and stillness. "Um… what–"

Armin leans forward to kiss the nape of her neck and she sucks in a sharp breath instead, her hand falling away to her side. 

"I'm good," He whispers, with a kiss of gratitude and appreciation pressed to her ear. "I can take it off." 

And take it off he does, when his fingers fiddle with the hooks and snap them open. Leaving the bra hanging limp on her shoulders, he travels his mouth down her back slowly. Annie shivers, almost losing her balance and falling forward on her hands, but his palm presses firm over her stomach, holding her up. 

Past the protrusions at the base of her neck, past the planes of her shoulder blades, past the gentle dip of her backbone, he kisses, until he reaches her scars. Annie’s sighs of pleasure quiet down until he can barely hear her anymore. 

Armin can see the painful gashes that once were, and feel the difference in texture with his lips when he grazes them along the criss-crossing patterns permanently etched onto her skin. Filling his head now are many memories that once belonged to someone too timid and frightened to ever ask her about it or say anything about it. Would he have been the same as him, put in his place? He doesn't know. But what Armin does know is that Annie’s here with him now, after all they’ve gone through. He'll gladly spend the rest of his lifetime trying to breathe new life into this expanse of her skin, hoping to overwrite them with good memories; memories that will make her blush, and memories that will make her laugh in the sunlight. 

If he didn't know better, he'd have taken Annie’s quietness as a sign of anger; anger at having her scars touched and caressed this way – but both of her hands cover his over her stomach. His kisses climb upward again, until he's met with her neck and he pulls her flush against him, chin pressed into her shoulder. Armin extends both of his hands in front of her, coaxing her quietly to press her fingertips over the backs, between the grooves of his knuckles. 

"Annie," He breathes behind her ear. "You know I love every part of you, right?" 

Annie's quietness gives way to a long, heavy sigh when he takes their combined hands and slides them up over her stomach, all the while kissing the side of her neck. Her skin prickles in goosebumps under his fingers when they drag up her abs and push past the loose bra to cup her soft breasts underneath. 

"I–" She begins, but gets distracted into releasing another deep sigh when he squeezes them, feeling both her nipples harden into the hollows of his palms. He's also aware that her ass is pressing firmly against the straining tent in his pants, but he ignores it for now.

“I really do.” He repeats, kneading her breasts gently, with his hands, her hands, both of their hands together, and she turns her head sideways in his direction. Eyes close, noses closer, breaths mingling between the sparse space between them, she bites her lip, a moan dissolving into a sigh with every soft squeeze.

“You’re so beautiful,” Armin kisses her lips lovingly, taking her nipples between his fingers and tugging. It rewards him with a broken cry and a hard grind of her ass against his hips that has him suppressing a groan, but he keeps at his task. “Yeah… you’re so, so, beautiful, everywhere, every inch–”

It must be too much for her, because she turns her face away and shoves at his hands lightly. Armin releases his hold just in time for her to turn around and climb into his lap with such force that he almost falls onto his back, but manages to brace himself with his palms flat on the mattress. It takes him by surprise, but straddling him, Annie circles her arms around his shoulders and pushes her face into the crook of his neck, hugging him so tight with her entire body that he wonders if he'll snap in two under her tremendous strength. 

It’s all quiet and still, only the songs of crickets outside keeping the fireflies company.

Armin wraps an arm around her middle, listening to the rhythm of her breathing on his neck, and wondering what she's thinking about and feeling. He doesn't move until she eventually breaks the silence. 

"How long have you known?" Annie mumbles into his jaw. 

"Hm? What about?" He draws circles with the tips of his fingers on the side of her bare waist. 

"The scars."

Ah. There's a beat of silence before he answers. "Three years now." 

She’s quiet again. 

"Of course, I wish you never had to go through all of that," He continues. "But I love you just the same, Annie. That won't change."

Annie says nothing with her words, but she responds in action – squeezing him tighter with her arms and legs, and he lets her hug him like this, with all of her, accepting it with all of him. Her fingers are hot on the nape of his neck when she shifts closer and he feels the tickle of her eyelashes over the shell of his ear. He can only hold her with one arm, but he does his best to squeeze her back just as tightly. Really, what had he been doing, so consumed with responsibilities that he'd forgotten entirely that she's been right here all along, waiting to spend time with him, wanting to love him and receive love back? His eyes stare idly at the fireflies twinkling beyond the room.

There's no future at all without all the present moments making them.

And then–

"I missed you."

"I know," Armin says, turning his head to kiss her shoulder, which is the only part of her he can access. “I’m sorry.”

He'll never make this mistake again, nor forget it.

"I missed you so much," She whispers, her breath fanning the side of his face. 

"I’m sorry," He repeats, genuine regret drenching every syllable of his apology. "But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere." 

Something warm and wet drags up his jaw and he stiffens. Fireflies, so many fireflies, outside the open window, his eyes are there; but she’s kissing his ear, and his neck, and the curve of his jaw, taking his earlobe between her teeth, tugging, nipping, sucking, and it’s all he can do to try and control his breathing.

“But,” Annie murmurs, right into his ear. “I also missed… you.”

Ah, shit, he tenses up with fire burning in his core. She rolls her hips forward, right on top of his hardened length, and only now does he realise how fucking painful it is, still constrained within his pants. Armin sucks in a sharp breath in unison with her.

“Annie–”

“Mmm,” She moans, continuing to ghost kisses down the stretch of his neck while setting a slow-paced rhythm with her hips, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop from groaning. Annie feels so good on his lap; three times so far she’s straddled him, and all three times she’s succeeded brilliantly in driving him mad. His arm around her loosens its grip to wander down her back, slipping into the thin material of her shorts and panties where he squeezes a handful of the plush softness of her ass. 

She jerks forward with a muffled moan and slowly pulls away from his neck to meet his heated gaze. But she’s not done, she’s far from done; it seems she’s determined to unravel him first tonight, and with both her hands braced on his shoulders, she grinds again.

“Ah–” Armin sighs, unable to help it, eyes growing hotter by the second as he looks at her. Short strands of her ponytail coming loose, completely naked from the waist up, unhooked bra dangling uselessly over her soft, bouncy breasts, pert nipples swaying slightly every time she rolls her body. He really, really wants to get rid of her shorts and his pants; it aches so much, and it aches so good.

“You– you’re so hard,” She stutters, her movements losing their finesse, eyes locked onto his eyes as she bites her lip. It almost – almost – makes him snap right there.

“How can I not be,” Armin groans, squeezing her ass again, watching her shudder to a stop. “With you grinding on me like this?”

Maybe it’s his words, maybe it's his hand, but she grabs the sides of his face and kisses him, hard. All his thoughts halt completely, and she leads, leaving him to follow every pull and suck of her burning mouth on his, the unbearable squirming of her hips over his length driving him insane. The kiss gets messy, very messy, very quickly, and he can hear the wet sounds of their tongues filling his headspace when she pulls away. 

"I want to touch you," Annie says urgently, finally working on unbuttoning his half-open shirt that she'd failed to take off twice before. "Can I?"

"Yeah," He’s distracted by the feel of her fingers on his chest after she smooths his shirt over his shoulders. Her hands run down his stomach and he lets out a deep breath, willing himself to calm down a bit. 

But then she pauses, eyes nervous on him, and he sees some hesitation within. 

"You don't have to," He tells her, tugging her loose bra down her arms and tossing it away.

"I want to," She says, before licking her lips. "But what if I'm not… good at it?"

Ridiculous, he thinks, blinking to clear away the fog in his head. "That's not… possible." Armin wonders how she could even think that way, surely she should know how riled up she gets him in a mere matter of seconds–

"No, but…" She continues, dragging her nails up his abs and his mouth falls open to release a harsh breath. "What if I hurt you or… can't… do it properly?"

Armin furrows his brows to focus; he doesn't get it, he really doesn't, what's there to be so worried about with a handjob–

Oh. 

Oh– she means to–

His throat suddenly goes very dry, and when his eyes blink wide at her, she kisses him gently.

"I really, really want to," She whispers against his lips with wanton insistence. "But… just…"

Fuck. His thoughts begin to race a mile a minute and his heart pounds loud enough to echo through the room. He has half a mind to tell her not to, because hell, he's not sure he's going to last with her if she does that, but the kisses she plants on his mouth so sweetly have his body reacting and taking over his head completely. 

"Go slow," He says quietly. She hums, kissing him again. 

"What else?"

"No teeth," His breath shudders when she drags her nails down his body again, but she places yet another sweet kiss on his lips.

"What else?" 

"Nothing else." 

And with one last kiss, she's gone. Gone to his throat, nibbling on his Adam's apple, trailing hot pressure along both of his collarbones, before she descends even further, lips parted and teasing down his chest. Armin's breathing alternates between shallow and deep, half embarrassed by the ease with which his body reacts to her touches, half incredibly aroused by the mere sight of Annie kissing down toward his hips.

But she pauses when her eyes level with his abs. Armin blushes furiously, self-conscious and insecure with his definition – it had taken hard training and more hours spent with weights and bars than any of the others to get him here, and then of course, there was the ODM gear that changed, requiring finer precision to use well. But Annie looks at his muscles with hunger and need and it sends blood rushing down to his cock, just a few inches and layers away from her attention, and god, it hurts, so bad, so good.

Then she presses her tongue flat on each hard rectangle of muscle and licks them one by one. 

“Ah– Annie,” He sighs heavily, abs fluttering under her mouth’s kisses and licks. She’s so focused on touching every inch of him and returning his affections, he would have smiled at the cuteness of it all if her breath wasn’t tickling the trail of hair disappearing into his pants. Leaving a nip on the v-line under his navel that has him breathing roughly, Annie carefully unbuttons his pants next, soon curling her fingers into the waistband and tugging down.

Armin lifts his hips first, then his feet, watching her pull both pants and boxers off with rising anticipation drumming in his ears. Anticipation, immense relief, and embarrassment, because he’s terribly engorged and excited and Annie’s eyes land on his cock and then rise to meet his eyes in disbelief. 

Goddamn. What else did she expect to see? Right this very second, she’s teasing him to hell and back with how she’s on her hands and knees between his legs, ass in the air, and it doesn’t matter that it’s clothed because he knows how soft and plump it is. Armin bites his lip, almost drawing blood.

Is this really happening?

“So hard...” She says to nobody in particular, taking him gently in one warm hand. He squeezes his eyes shut, opening them a split second later, because no matter what, he wants– no, needs to watch her.

Shit, is this really happening? Oh, this had happened in his fantasies. He felt guilty about thinking of her sucking him off, but was pretty much powerless against his vivid imagination. Not in a single one of those fantasies had he finished in complete ecstasy, it had always ended in napkins containing both his cum and his tears – but here she is, for real, with his cock between her hands, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip.

Armin grits his teeth, muffling a groan.  

“You feel hot,” Annie whispers, another curious kiss landing on the throbbing tip.

No surprise, he wants to say, but the words die in his mouth when she opens her mouth to lick down the entire length. He doesn’t think there’s any blood that’s not pumping into his cock, and yet he feels the tell-tale heat flush over his cheeks. 

Annie licks up and down the purplish-red skin of his shaft with increasing confidence; at first she tries to keep it neat, but soon ditches the effort, her saliva leaving him slick and wet. Soon enough, his pre-cum joins in and she looks pleasantly surprised, pausing with her tongue flat on the tip to catch the oozing liquid.

Shit, shit, shit, his breathing is rough, hard, disjointed. Annie starts again, tentative swirls of her hot tongue around the bulbous head almost making him see stars. 

“Am I… doing okay?” She breathes, drawing away for a moment, lips wet and as pink as the blush on her cheeks. 

He must be going insane. There’s no way she’s asking him that. But she’s looking at him with wide blue eyes holding a question that, to her, seems valid. 

“More… than okay,” Armin manages to say, the ends of his words dissolving into a rough sigh when she circles her fingers around the base of his shaft. And fuck, all of his focus zeroes in on one fact.

She’s so ridiculously small. 

Annie pauses once more, licking her lips as if in preparation, and here again, he could smile at the cuteness of her seriousness if she wasn’t preparing to swallow him down her tiny mouth.  “Can I… take you–” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t wait for her to finish, watching her with cloudy eyes as she lowers her mouth to the tip. 

Her fingers barely touch each other around his girth, and he wonders how in the world she’s going to fit him in her mouth–

–She doesn’t, and he groans, nerves sparking violently. 

Annie’s lips, hot and wet, go past the leaking head and roughly quarter of an inch more, and that’s all she can take. Light sweat dotting her forehead, soft breasts brushing his thighs, a hand still at the base of his shaft, she tries, she really does, to take in more, but she can’t. What it takes him, however, to hold himself together and not give in to the rising pressure when she hollows her cheeks, is to ball the sheets up under his hands with all the force he can muster.

“A–Ann–”

She gags. 

Both of them go still, she out of embarrassment, and he because his heart stops beating. Blinking furiously, he stares down at her where she lets go of his cock with an audible pop! and blushes deep red. His rapid breathing accompanies her flustered actions of wiping away the string of spit and pre-cum dangling between his cock and her lips. 

"S–sorry, um," Annie mumbles, but all he can think of is the noise she made not two seconds ago. "I'll–"

But his limit is stretched dangerously thin and he doesn't believe he can handle hearing her gag another time without cumming straight into her mouth, not tonight anyway, so he's leaning forward, knocking her backwards on the bed so she's flat on her back with her legs around his hips. 

His open shirt tickling her sides, he kisses her, hard. Maybe it should bother him that he can taste himself, maybe it shouldn’t; either way he doesn’t care. His thoughts are messy and all over the place and– god, he wants her, he wants her so bad, so he kisses her roughly, leaving her mewling and squirming in pleasure as he travels down – over the neck she so easily stretches for him, over delicate collarbones where he has to control his urge to suck and leave bruises, over the swell of her breasts – and here he stops briefly, to press kisses on the soft flesh, and take her hard, erect nipples between his teeth, and suck on them until she's trembling all over and twisting the sheets with those small fingers of hers. 

"Oh–ohh…" Annie gasps when Armin goes down further, planting open mouthed kisses over her sternum, over her ribs, over her undulating stomach that rises and dips with every long, deep breath and moan. He should be spending more time here, he knows that, he wants that, but he can't, he's not patient enough for it anymore. 

"Lift up for me," He murmurs, when the offending material of her shorts rudely interrupts his path, and she complies, raising her hips just enough for him to tug both her shorts and panties off in one fluid motion. The scent of her arousal hits him like an aphrodisiac, and it makes him so much more turned on than he already is. He shrugs his shirt off.

Armin takes a second to admire her now, finally all naked and bare, eyes hazy with desire, fingers lost somewhere under the pillow beneath her head, rubbing her thighs together in anticipation of what's about to come. Oh, she has no idea, he thinks, because he didn’t miss the way her panties came off with some difficulty – she’s so wet, for him.  

Gripping her ankles, he spreads her legs open. 

Undoubtedly, Annie's so, so, beautiful. 

Glistening wet, soaking pink with lust and love and everything in between and more, her folds are begging, begging him, for some much needed attention, and just the sight makes him want to be inside her already; deep, deep inside her, until there's no more space left to fill, but first… 

Annie’s eyes go wide and she raises herself on her elbows when he plants a kiss on each one of her hip bones, and then travels south.

"Hm?" He questions, his palms sliding down the back of her knees, lifting her legs higher, setting them over his shoulders. He places a kiss on her inner right thigh and feels her shiver, suppressing a sound inside her throat. "What?" He asks again, this time kissing closer to where she's dripping wet, and watches her furrow her brows and bite down on her lip.

Finally, she says, in an uncharacteristically small voice, "You don't have to."

Her attempt to mimic his earlier line almost makes him laugh. 

"Oh, no," He breathes with a chuckle, taking a gentle bite of the skin of her other thigh and pulling with his teeth – her legs quake. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do this."

Annie’s holding her breath, bright red in the face, and he sees her swallow nervously. 

"How long?"

Armin smiles, not looking away from her eyes. 

"Breathe, Annie."

And he takes his first lick, making her fall back on the bed with a soundless gasp.

Long, languid, lazy strokes up and down the length of her slit, and he begins to get drunk. She smells heavenly, she tastes heavenly, and her thighs, all corded muscle and strength, go weak over his shoulders. She's so good, she's so wet, he can barely think, barely believe, that he made her like this, that this is all for him.

"A–Armin…" She calls his name in a high whine, and he flicks his tongue harder into her tight entrance eliciting more whines. He wants to see her, watch her, take pleasure in how she looks as he pleasures her, but instead, he latches onto the little bundle of nerves at the top he knows will shoot her into ecstasy.

And he sucks. 

Annie bucks her hips into him, fingers carding through his hair, pulling him closer, closer, he can barely breathe, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care at all. His tongue laves at her slick where she drips into his mouth, his nose pushes into her clit with hard pressure, his hands firmly holding her thighs apart so she doesn’t kick him off entirely. She’s shaking so bad, it makes him impossibly hard and once again, Armin marvels at the thought that he's the sole reason for every spark of pleasure in her, it makes his heart pound with so many emotions running wild. 

Alternating between his tongue licking harder and harder on her clit and her tight entrance, he stretches an arm to find her hand, and she grips onto his fingers with mad strength. She’s crying out loud, body tensing, legs shaking, heels of her feet digging into his shoulder blades repeatedly, and he still can’t believe that it’s because of him, all because of him, this is for him, she’s so–

It’s only when her hand pressing into his scalp begins to push instead of pull, that he knows she’s grown too sensitive, too close, there's no room nor time to put his fingers in her; Annie needs him now, and by god, who is he to deny her that when he wants her just as much, if not more?

Armin comes up for air; dazed, dizzy, drunk, vision foggy, every nerve ending within him on fire. His mouth and chin are wet and he wipes it off with the back of his hand, noting Annie watching him, trembling all over from teetering on the edge of her release – he wouldn’t have minded, really, if she came in his mouth – and he loses his breath at the way she looks. 

A light sheen of sweat covering her supple body, and ponytail half loose. Shit. A crimson blush creeping down her neck, lips bitten and swollen. Shit. Chest heaving, breasts swaying with pants from all the oxygen he'd stolen out of her lungs just seconds before. Shit. 

Armin's heart squeezes. So strong, so powerful, so unforgivingly lethal, but she's lying there for him, open and bare, vulnerable and weak. She trusts him. She loves him. She wants him. She loves him. Is he enough for her? Is she really his? For now, and for life? Armin can't believe it, and now he's the one with no air in his lungs, he's so, so, madly in love with her and he can't believe– he really can't believe that out of everyone, Annie wants him –

"What are you staring at?" She huffs, growing impatient and self conscious, reaching her hands up to interlace her fingers with him. He returns the touch, squeezing her small hands within his. 

"I just–"

"Come on." She whines, rolling her hips against his and he jerks forward with a groan – every inch of her is pressed in perfect alignment with every inch of him. The humidity is unbearable, and heat envelops them in a wave of sweat that only makes everything more slippery and wet. The thin wire of restraint in him almost breaks completely when she rolls her hips again– and yet, it's the raw, skin on skin pleasure that makes his common sense jolt him out of the haze.  

The condoms. 

He backs away, reaching over the edge of the bed for his pants, much to Annie's absolute confusion. 

"What's wrong?" She asks, propping herself up to watch him rummage into the back pockets for his wallet. Curiosity flits across her flushed face when he opens it and pulls out the paper covering, and her eyes widen in dismay.

"No."

Armin glances at her as he works to tear it open, rather surprised at her reaction. "No? But Annie–"

"No," She says, now scowling. "We didn't use one last time."

"Yeah, and you know how risky that was, right?" He raises his eyebrows, leaning forward to give her a quick peck on the lips. He drops his voice to add, "Don't tell me you didn't think about that." 

She hesitates, avoiding his eyes. "But… you pulled out." Then she looks at him again, her frown more indignant. "You can just do it again." 

Armin backs away with a smile, amazed at her faith and confidence in his self control. "What if I don't?" 

"But–"

"Annie. We're not taking chances with this. Not right now." He pulls out the thin latex. 

"But…" Annie sighs, evidently disgruntled and displeased. "It's not… you. Your skin."

He laughs, leaning forward again and she lies back down with an adorable frown on her face. "It is me." He kisses her sweetly, and she returns it half-heartedly. "Just bear with it for a little while. Please?"

She glares at him, but this too, is half-hearted. Nevertheless, he humours her. "What?"

"It's not going to feel as good."

Well. He considers that. He'll gladly accept a negligible loss of sensation if it means they can have sex now, and in the future, with fear and worry far away from their minds. He shrugs at her with another smile. 

"I'll just have to prove you wrong."

Armin sits up on his knees again, rolling the thin latex over his cock, hissing quietly when the common sense that had taken over his head briefly is shoved back out with urgent desire once more controlling him. But now there's a small problem – he needs to lubricate. 

Palms facing upwards, he spits into his hands, quickly smearing it over his shaft and tip while looking at Annie – and she goes quiet, very, very quiet, a new blush covering her face as she watches the movements of his hands. 

"Hm?"

She swallows and slowly shakes her head. "Nothing." She mumbles so softly he barely hears her. 

Drawing her legs around his waist, feeling her ankles crossing at the small of his back, Armin lowers himself over her, bracing himself on his elbows. Faces close, bodies closer, she draws him into a series of slow kisses, all affection and innocence and love. Pulling away slightly for air, he looks into her light blue eyes, bright and clear in this dim room. 

Eyes like the daylight sky.

Their noses brushing, Annie gives him a soft smile, circling one arm around his neck, the other snaking down between their pressed bodies to grip his hard cock. He inhales sharply, feeling adrenaline flooding his system when she drags it down, down, until he's right there, where she opens up with eagerness and want. 

"Okay?" He whispers, nudging her nose with his.

She closes her eyes, the other hand also circling his neck. "Mm." 

He just wants to be a boy. 

A deep inhale, an exhale, and he pushes himself in, in, further in, until their hipbones touch and there's no space left unoccupied. 

Their mouths fall open in breathless gasps and he almost buries his face in her neck, like last time, but he controls the urge – he wants to see this too, her face, her eyes, her lips, everything, right at the moment everything falls into place. She's so small, unbelievably small, and every single muscle in his body floods with the beginnings of a new wave of ecstasy even as he wonders how in the world he manages to fit so perfectly inside her. 

Staying still, waiting for her to adjust, he clenches his jaws and blinks rapidly to regain some control over his senses. He may not ever get used to this. None of his fantasies had prepared him for how soft and tight she could be. Finally, Armin watches her slowly open her eyes and breathe into his mouth. 

"Move…"

It turns out he didn't need any lubrication at all – she's wet enough for the both of them to have sex three times over. Groaning, he slowly pulls out and pushes back in, inching himself further and further out each time before going back in. 

"Mhmm!" Annie angles her head to the side; presumably, whatever remained of the pain she felt to adjust has begun to ebb away. Good, so good, finally, he can move the way he wants to and chase away this torturous pain of going so slow, and also chase his release and hers. 

"Fuck," He curses, because she's so hot and so wet, squeezing him like she won't ever let him go. Setting a steady pace, Armin thrusts into her, listening to her gasps and mewls with his heart burning and racing with sweet, sweet pleasure. Neither of them is going to last very long tonight, they’re too close to the edge, but this isnt enough, it's not enough at all, and–

“M–more… go faster– ah! ” 

Armin has very little resistance to this voice of hers; this voice, where she drives away every thought in his head except the singular need to make her sound like that again , more, louder, so he pulls away, digs his knees into the mattress and sets a faster rhythm, holding her thighs firmly along his obliques. Sticky with sweat, the scent of sex in the air, he pants harshly – there’s no oxygen in the room, nor in his lungs.  

“Too fast?” He gasps, voice raw with need. Annie shakes her head ‘no’ wordlessly, her toes curling in hot pleasure, her body squirming and writhing, making it harder and harder for him to not get clumsy and lose his control – but maybe that’s exactly what she wants – and she’s intoxicating him. All her squirming is making her grind relentlessly with his throbbing cock deep inside her, and it makes him lurch forward, barely catching his balance with a hand on the bed frame.  

“Fuck... y-you’re... crazy tight,” He grunts through gritted teeth, both of his hands gripping the sides of her narrow waist to still her movements, though he doesn’t stop thrusting into her. Annie whimpers, loud and desperate, but his thumbs dig into her hip bones and her back rises off the bed in a beautiful arch. Armin takes this opportunity to dip his spine over her body, scraping his teeth along her long, exposed neck.

“Ah! F-fuck…!” She cries, legs locking high around his back. “Armin–”

His name. Yeah, his name on her lips, in this voice, it has him rushing headlong to the brink of a cliff, what with her walls so hot, smooth, and so rough around him; every time he plunges in, she sucks him in without mercy, and it’s an effort to pull out. He wants more, more of it all, more of this pressure building in his core, more of her voice, more of his name in her breathless gasps, more of her; fuck– more of her, more of her, more of her.

More of her eyes. 

“Annie,” He calls, hoarsely, fingers ghosting along her cheek, and she looks at him weakly.

Eyes like the daylight sky.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

Annie pulls him down fully over her, and hands cupping his jaws, keeps him close to her face, nose to nose – and right here, he’s nothing. Nothing at all. 

He’s just a boy.

Half lidded eyes locked onto his, Annie whimpers, “You feel sooo good… ”

It drives him wild.  

A brief, clumsy kiss to her lips. Hands leaving her waist to force one thigh further back, over his shoulder. Sinking deeper into her, he goes harder, harder, until she can’t speak anymore, sweaty strands of hair sticking to her forehead, the way his own hair sticks to his. Feeling the sharp sting of her nails down his back, Armin can’t help the ragged breaths falling from his open mouth and right into hers.

“Am I… proving you wrong yet…?” He asks, voice hoarse and breathless.

It sends her into a tailspin and she squeezes him to heaven and back. But true to her word, she keeps her eyes on him, and he lets the pale, clear blue envelop his vision as his head begins to go numb.

“I–I’m–” She stammers, pupils blown up, but still on him.

“Yeah…” He grunts, slamming into her as hard as possible, grinding into her clit at the same time even as his rhythm falters into clumsiness. Forehead pressed to hers, all he can do is fall and fall into her irises.

Annie clamps down on him with maddening force, convulsing around him, and he chases his release in the high clouds, free from the worry of having to pull out, groaning when the pressure compresses into a single point and skyrockets to the heavens. And then he’s soaring, high, it’s blue all around, inside, outside, he’s bathed in the warm blue light of her skies.

Shaking and trembling, they stay in each other’s arms without moving, his sweat dripping off his chin and hair onto her. 

Annie’s hands are soft and sweet on his cheeks.

He’s never felt this warm.

He’s never felt this wanted.

Armin closes his eyes.

He’s never felt this loved.

Annie stares back at him, her face radiant and bright from the afterglow of sex. They’ve turned the light off in the room, but the soft lamp from outside the window beams on her face gently. He’s glad for it. It makes watching her in the darkness much easier. Armin brushes loose hair away from her cheeks and tucks it behind her ear.

“You’ve been staring for ten minutes now.” She says flatly, although there’s a hint of affection, if he listens carefully. 

“Hmm.” Armin smiles, still under the influence of a pleasant buzzing through his body. She keeps staring back, her eyes taking strange routes down his own face – it makes no sense to him, one minute she’s looking at his eyes, the next at his chin. He laughs.

“You’re looking at me like you’ve never seen me before,” He points out, feeling her toes tickle his under the sheets. 

She’s quiet for a minute as she chews her lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

“To what?” Armin props himself on an elbow. 

“Seeing you like this.” Annie says, eyes roving over his face once more. “You changed… so much.” 

He grins, feeling the urge to tease her coming on fast and hard. “Is it really that bad?”

She swats at his arm with a frown. “That's not funny, even as a joke.”

“No?”

“No,” Her frown deepens way too seriously and he suppresses a chuckle, out of politeness. “Because… you look so good. And your hair…”

“Hm, yeah,” Armin looks upward, thumbing a long strand of hair falling over his eyes. “It’s grown longer. I should get a haircut.” He glances at her. “Think I should change the style?”

Annie’s eyes go wide in protest. “No! I’ve barely gotten used to this one!”

He falls on the pillow, laughing at her strangely violent reaction. Annie scowls hard at him, scooting closer until her head rests over his outstretched arm and he holds her flush to him. 

“Don’t change it now." She says, although it sounds more like a plea.

“I won’t,” Armin assures her, voice dropping low. “I’ll change it when you get sick of it.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it.”

“No?”

“No, it’s… se–” Annie stops abruptly, clamping her mouth shut.

Armin quirks an eyebrow. “Se…?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing, it was 'se…'?”

“Nothing!” She buries her face into the pillow with a grumble.

“Please tell me,” He grins, prying the pillow from under their heads and tossing it to the floor. Annie groans.

“Why’d you throw it?!”

“I’ll get it back if you tell me,” He tells her calmly. “Come on. It’s just me.”

“That’s the whole problem, it’s you,” She mutters, glaring at him, but he remains unfazed and eventually, she relents, murmuring something under her breath. 

“I didn’t hear that. Louder?” Armin cocks his head.

“...Sexy.”

Dear god, Armin bites his cheeks – he needs a manual on how to control his happiness and elation when Annie gets like this or he'll shoot through the roof. Clearing his throat, he tilts his head deeper, looking very, very serious. 

“I still… couldn’t hear. Louder?”

“Sexy. Your haircut is sexy.”

“Uh, Can you repeat–”

Annie’s not having his shit and she growls. “You heard me. Get the pillow!” She kicks his foot lightly and he bursts into laughter, rolling onto his other side to retrieve the poor pillow from the floor. Dragging it closer by an end of the cover, it knocks into his discarded pants and a cardboard box rolls out of a turned out pocket. Armin pauses for longer than necessary, squinting at it with confusion before he remembers what it is.

“What is it?” Annie’s voice comes from behind when he stretches his arm with strain to swipe it off the floor.

“I forgot about this,” He turns back to face her, stuffing one end of the pillow under her raised head and offering the box to her. She takes it curiously, rolling onto her back. “I won it at a shooting booth.”

Annie pries the cardboard lid off and out falls the tiny ring on the sheets above her chest. She picks it up and holds it in the line of the beam of light from outside. “There’s–”

“Moss inside it, yeah,” He nods, eyes on the ring. “It’s so small though…” His gaze drops to her fingers. 

Small fingers. 

Oh.

Before he can even say anything, Annie’s sliding it down her little finger on her right hand. 

Oh.

It fits her.

His heart begins to race.

It wasn’t useless after all.

“It looks nice,” She says, holding her hand up to the light. The thin transparent resin band containing green moss sits perfectly at the base of her pinky. “It won’t fit any other finger though.” Annie turns her head sideways to look at him, eyebrows rising inquiringly when she sees the dumbstruck expression on his face. “What?”

Armin blinks, finding his throat suddenly very scratchy. “Well… it’s… it’s cheap, it won’t last…”

She shrugs mildly, turning her hand the other way in the light, “I’ll just wear it until it breaks.”

Heart lodged in his throat and still beating too fast, he extends his open hand above them and she places her palm flat on his palm, fingers aligned, one on another. Bathed in the soft golden glow of the street lamp, the small ring reflects the light dully.

Armin looks at her. 

Annie looks at him. Her eyes are wide and there’s a light blush on her cheeks.

There’s a ring on her finger.

It’s the wrong finger.

And there isn’t one on his. 

He swallows. 

There’s another promise he has to keep. Though, for this one, there’s a long way to go and–

“Fireflies.”

His attention snaps back to the present, where her eyes are no longer on him, but on the window behind his head. Armin twists to look over his shoulder.

Fireflies. One, two, three, and many more, floating into the room through the window. They flit along the ceiling like twinkling stars, and the darkness only serves to amplify the momentary, fleeting glow of their fires. Mouths open in wonder, they watch all of so many fireflies invade this quiet space above their heads. 

Feeling her eyes on him again, Armin turns to look at Annie. She’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Hm?”

She shakes her head slowly, secretively. “No it’s just… I thought I lost something.”

“Lost what?”

“A silly myth.”

Armin looks puzzled but she just chuckles and turns away. His lips curl downward. She still hasn’t told him what was in Mikasa’s letter that made her so happy, and now this? So many secrets. Playfully, he lunges under the sheets and grabs her sides, making her squeal in surprise.

“Tell me about this silly myth,” He nibbles on her ear with a chuckle and she tries to kick him off, but it’s half-hearted and she’s laughing, sheets rolling off them both. 

“Stop that!” Annie shoves at him, but there’s absolutely zero strength in it, he can tell. He rolls over her, biting the shell of her ear and she shrieks, shaking with laughter.

“So somebody’s apparently not ticklish, but that can change very quickly I see,” He says in mock seriousness, squeezing her waist, and this time, her laughter evolves into a gasp.

“S-stop– I'm not ticklish, I’m sore!” 

“Oh?” He pulls away, nose centimetres away from hers, eyes boring into hers with a teasing grin. “Whatever happened to wanting to be sorer?”

“Well it’s too late now.” She glares at him, trying to squirm away. Armin laughs. If she’d really wanted him off her, she’d have thrown him out of the room with ease. She likes this.  

“Oh? Someone also wanted me, hmm, how was it put? 'All night'?” 

“You’re terrible.”

“The condoms come as a pack of twelve, so we have around eleven left.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would dare.”

“...”

“...”

“Stop, I’m going to kick you– hey! ”

There are fireflies in the skies and fireflies in the trees.

There are also fireflies in the ceiling of a room that fills with shrieks of laughter and sighs of pleasure. 

After all, it's still only summer, and there are so many more seasons to come. 

Chapter Text

Mist billows out in soft clouds where water and gravity collide. 

The waterfalls stretch high into the heavens; tall things of nature formed aeons ago, standing proud and majestic, and sharing the clouds with cobalt blue skies. The white, frothy cascades crash into the plunge pool, spraying droplets so far they land on her dry skin. Clinging to the cliffs on precariously perched rocks are trees and vines that break up the sleek curtain of water into several streams. The pool itself contains some of the clearest waters she’s ever seen. Shimmering sapphire blue under the dawn sunlight, the pool is a reservoir of glass constantly shaking with ripples sent far and wide. Bordered all around with sun-baked rocks slimy with lush green moss, ferns and algae, the plunge pool and the waterfalls span the entire length of the settlements, altogether some fifty metres across. 

And it is where Annie finds herself every morning these days, the deafening roar of the falls rushing between her ears. 

“Five more!” She yells with folded arms, a frown plastering over her face as Aoife’s pace falters. The girl runs her tenth lap up and down the perimeter of the pool and she’s already at breaking point. 

Aoife pants, eyes squeezing tight as she approaches. What Annie’s learned over the past few days is that the girl has zero stamina, but plenty of determination… she hasn’t complained even once. 

“Keep going,” Annie tells her as she collapses on her back, huffing and heaving air through small lungs.

“T–this is not… f–fighting.”

She snorts. “You think you can just learn to defend yourself without any endurance, without any agility, without any speed?” Annie counts off the first of the issues that come to her mind. “You’ve got a long way to go. Up.”

Looking famished and exhausted, Aoife rises to her feet, and takes off on another long lap along the border of the pool. Annie grimly watches her spindly little legs pump as fast as they possibly can – not very fast after eleven laps – and folds her arms tightly again, hugging herself. Weak legs, that’s another issue. 

And then there’s the issue of the crawling Annie feels under her own skin. 

It’s been a very long time since she’s felt this sensation, and she doesn’t like it one bit. This was not supposed to happen. 

(Itching, itching everywhere.)

Annie glances to her left, where the forest of pines cordons off the grassy expanse where she’s chosen to train Aoife. The cottages are far away beyond the thick trunks, and any amount of yelling and shouting here easily gets drowned out under the pounding rush of water.  The cottages are far away, her father is far away, and this is not their home in Liberio.

And yet…

(It crawls, it bites, she can’t get that spot under her shoulder blades.)

Annie purses her lips and paces around in slow circles, looking up every now and then to keep track of Aoife’s running that has now slowed to a limping stagger. She isn’t supposed to feel this way, to remember these things, with so much vividness. She’s just teaching a girl how to defend herself the way she’d been taught by her father.

The way she’d been taught by her father. 

(She slaps her neck, feeling the sharp sting of a bite she can’t even see the culprit of.)

The soil around her old house in Marley had been the muddy kind that would very quickly turn into slush even under a small rain. The kind that would squelch under boots, suck in the feet, and stick horribly to all surfaces like pasty gum. The kind of soil that was ideal for all kinds of bugs and insects and worms to crawl around in. 

It was on a rainy day that she’d begun her training. The first thing she remembers is–

Aoife trips over her own tired feet and falls face first into a wet patch of soil. When she lifts her head, dirt slides down her cheeks and the sweat from her forehead joins in. 

(–A boot digging into her back when she lifts her muddy cheek off the sticky earth, wet with falling rain. Her father’s eyes are unforgiving and cruel.)

Annie looks at Aoife, feeling invisible insects bite all over her, and worms crawling into her skin. 

“I–I’m done,” The young girl groans. 

(“There’s no such thing as done. Get up. You’ll keep going until you get it right.”)

No. No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This is all a mistake. An awful, terrible mistake. She shouldn’t have started this, taken this up, opened up the past in this manner. Her neck stings with bites she’s certain live only in imagination, and she furls and unfurls her fists to calm down.

“Annie,” Aoife calls weakly. “What… next?”

(Something wriggles behind the collar of her shirt and she flinches, but she has to keep running, she has to, she has to!! or else he’ll–)

Annie shoves her hands into her pockets, trembling all over. She's going to keep her sanity. She’s going to teach this kid to be faster, stronger, braver. She’s going to teach this girl how to fight– 

–the way she’d been taught by her father. 

(“Get up! Get up! Get up!”)

She shudders violently and the hanko in her right pocket bumps into her knuckles. It’s only when she squeezes it within a tightly clenched fist that the trembling stops, slowly but surely. 

No, she’s different. She’ll be different. She’s got to be. She’s got to be!

“Annie?”

(Calloused fingers yank her off the muddy earth by the collar. “I said run.”)

Annie swings around to face the tired girl, the only thing keeping her from breaking down then and there being the warm little red stamp wedged into the confines of her quivering palm. “We’re done for today. Go home. And eat properly.”

And with that, she marches away from the waterfalls, through the pine forest, past the row of cottages, ignoring Karina Braun’s greeting thrown to her from afar, crosses the bridge, crosses the white line drawn in the middle, and goes home as the sun rises higher in the skies.

Nerves relatively more at ease, but still rattled, Annie's barely finished her breakfast in sync with Jean sitting opposite, when Pieck thunders down the stairs with a bewildered expression on her face.

“Where’s Reiner?” She asks, staring at the dining table that’s empty except for the two late breakfasters.

“He went off with Armin a little while ago,” Jean says with his mouth full. Pieck scowls, whether at Reiner’s unexpected absence or Jean’s terrible manners, Annie doesn’t know. 

“I told him I needed his help,” She grumbles before shaking her head. “Well, fine. You two, come with me.”

“What for?” Jean takes a drink of water.

“I need help and you’re tall enough for the job,” Pieck’s already retreating up the stairs. “Come upstairs fast.”

Annie shares Jean’s puzzled look before shrugging and washing off her dishes. If Pieck’s got a job for her that’ll take her mind off the phantom itching and crawling on her skin, then she’s not complaining, not one bit. 

Five minutes later, Annie swings Pieck’s door open with Jean shifting uncomfortably behind her. 

She's never seen a proper jungle in her life – her expedition to Paradis had carried the aim of getting stuck in a rock after all – but she doesn't need to, anymore. The jungle lives inside this room. The plants have grown tall, the vines have grown long, and it is, to put it simply, uncontained, unrestrained and chaotic. She can’t see much of the walls anymore. The only visible furniture is the cupboard and the bed. There’s even a long tendril of ivy snaking across the headboard of the bed frame. There’s vines to catch at her ankles on the floor like rat traps.

From the other side of the room beyond the bed, Connie looks at them from where he squats on the floor. Pants rolled up to his calves, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he crouches in front of a sack of dark soil that has already turned his fingers black. 

“Welcome to the wilderness,” He deadpans. “Find yourself a bag of dirt and make yourself at home.”

“What the heck–?” Jean sucks in a sharp breath of air when Annie manages to make it across to the bed in one piece. Pieck emerges from the bathroom, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Oh good, you’re here. Now,” She looks around the room, gathering her wits. “Annie, I need you to prune some of the plants that have grown too wild. Connie’s repotting, so you can prune as he finishes. Jean, this ivy,” She waves her hands at the walls covered in green. “They’ve become unruly, and they need proper support. Can you hammer some hooks and nails up there so they can catch on?” 

Jean narrows his eyes that still look at his surroundings in disbelief. “First of all, what the heck is with this room? Second of all, so you have space for all this, but not the giraffe?” He takes a careless step forward, trips, and almost falls on his face.

“Careful Jean, you’re in the most dangerous place in the world,” Connie says in a bored voice. 

Pieck frowns as she hands Annie a pair of pruning shears. “Jeanbo, you shouldn't insult someone's room. Especially a woman’s room.”

“Oh come on, this isn’t a woman’s room, it’s a jungle is what it is. I’m half expecting to see squirrels flying over my head.”

To this, Pieck remains strangely silent for a long few minutes. Annie tries to gauge her feelings as makes her way across falling tendrils and leaves to sit cross legged opposite Connie. The sun filtering into the room glints off the ring resting between the hollow of her friend’s collarbones.  Pieck hadn’t talked of Porco or anything remotely related to that grief since they buried the dead plant under the birch – and Annie hadn’t pressed on any of the other (not many) occasions she spent in this room after that. 

Jean however, continues with his complaints. “I don’t know how you can sleep here. Leaves and moisture everywhere. God, I’d never be able to–”

“If you’re that disgusted, you can leave,” Pieck says in a clipped voice, busying herself with a pot of young devil’s ivy on top of her dresser. “Sorry I bothered you.”

Jean stares at her, taken aback. When an awkward silence ensues, he scratches the back of his neck and mutters, “I never said I wouldn’t help, jeez. I’ll go get the step ladder.” And he disappears out the door. 

“When did you come in here?” Annie questions Connie as he hands her a pot of freshly re-potted elephant’s bush.

“I was attacked as soon as I woke up,” He says. “Dragged mercilessly into this wilderness, made to dig into mud and smelly dirt–” He holds up his hands that have turned so black Annie can’t see his nails anymore. “I’ve already spent an eternity here, I think.”

“Connie, you’re such a sweet guy,” Pieck chuckles from the dresser where she carefully wipes down leaves with a white cloth. “I love you so much.”

“Ha–ha, funny,” He replies, gesturing at the sea of plants in front of him. “These pots, they never end. I’m sure there’s some strange dimension–thing going on in here, I don’t know where these all go.”

Annie smiles, feeling the itch under her skin fade into the bickering and joking that begins, filling the room with laughter and shouts of annoyance. She holds the pruning shears in her right hand, re-potted plants sitting on her left knee, turning them like a carousel when she snips off the overgrown bits. Jean returns with a step ladder over his shoulder, hammer and hooks stuffed into his pockets, and gets to work. 

Two hours pass. Annie soon begins to understand Connie’s utter bewilderment – the pots never seem to end. She thinks she’s finished with the ones on the dresser, when more arrive from by the foot of it. A great mass of snipped off leaves and stems piles up on her left like a mountain, fluttering in the breeze that blows the curtains framing the open window. Beads of sweat dot her nose and Connie’s forehead as they fall into a smooth rhythm of repotting and pruning. 

"A little higher," Pieck directs Jean as he stands on the top rung of the ladder, hammer between his teeth. He shifts the placement of a vining hook higher up the wall. "Yeah, good." 

"Soon we'll have wildlife living between these leaves. Monkeys swinging from the vines and anteaters running around the floor." Jean mutters with a roll of his eyes and hammers the hook into place.

"Can you hang this up there?" Pieck holds up a basket of what Annie now knows to be a dangling string of pearls.

He refuses. “These hooks can’t stand the weight of that. They’re only good for the ivy.”

“The reason I wanted you to fix that hook was so I could hang this along with the ivy.”

“It’ll fall on your head.”

“It won’t.”

“Well if you want to die in your sleep, be my guest,” Jean grumbles, climbing down the ladder and ignoring her outstretched arms with the hanging basket. “I’m not hanging that up there.”

Pieck glares at him – it’s the tenth so far; Annie’s been counting with silent amusement. 

A few more hours pass and the room begins to wear a more organised appearance. The plants in pots, now clean and trimmed, go back on the flat surfaces of the table and shelves. Hanging pots go back on their hooks, their curtains of green snipped into neat haircuts. Snaking vines and ivy are detangled, separated, pruned, and twirled around the two dozen vining hooks Jean has fixed along the walls. Pieck brings them all tall glasses of cold fruit juice that runs down their throats with smooth chill, cooling their bodies from the hot temperatures. 

While Connie washes his hands thoroughly in the bathroom, Pieck sits on the centre of her bed, a wistful look in her eyes as she sweeps a gaze across her room. Annie wonders what she’s thinking of, but of course, she can’t ask now, not with the guys in the room. 

“I’d say we did a whole day’s worth of hard manual labour,” Connie jokes over the rush of water by the washbasin. “Are you going to pay us?”

“You better,” Jean chuckles.

Pieck bites her lip before saying quietly, “I think it looks… a little empty.”

Annie isn’t entirely surprised, but the two boys’ mouths fall open. 

Pieck draws her knees up to her chin, hugging herself tight. “When it was all overgrown, I felt more at home. Like something large and warm was pulling me in. Now it’s just… a little empty.”

Connie shoots Annie a quizzical look that she ignores. “It’ll all grow back,” He tells Pieck. “Quickly. So you don’t have to–”

“It’ll grow back and I’ll have to cut it down again,” Pieck laughs bitterly. “And so on and so on.”

A pause that feels as long as Annie’s four years in the crystal stretches uncomfortably in the room, and eventually is broken by Pieck’s sniffle. 

The three of them freeze. 

“H–hang on, are you… crying?” Jean’s voice is delicate.

Annie looks at her vacant eyes helplessly. But before she can open her mouth and shoo the guys out, Pieck clears her throat and meets their concerned eyes.

“Can you guys buy me a few more plants?”

“What?” Jean says. “And where will you put them? You have no more room in this… room.”

“There’s always room,” Her voice is defensive. “I always have room for more.”

“But where will you put them?”

“Somewhere!” She says sharply, before softening immediately. “Sorry– I’m just…”

Jean’s eyebrows furrow in terrible confusion and he rakes a hand through his hair. “Fine, we’ll get it for you. Just… tell us what you need.”

The harsh yellow sun isn’t very pleasant on his face after a gruelling morning spent within the too-warm confines of the Chancellor’s office, drawing up policies and procedures for the delegates that would arrive come fall. Armin squints into the bright light, wincing when he feels a dull ache throb in his jaws from too much clenching and grinding of his teeth. There wasn’t a single minister, secretary, or undersecretary in the office room clad in more than one layer of clothing, throwing all the rules of official dressing out the window. He and Reiner are no different, and he stretches his limbs just as his friend does.

“Well, that was tiring,” Reiner yawns, the two of them making their way down the steps of the office that are heated and bleached from the sun. “Glad it’s over for today.”

“Yeah,” Armin follows suit with a loud yawn of his own and his eyes tear up at the corners. “I really wish we had some idea of where Captain Levi is. We've been looking for a while and… Not knowing feels so awful. I hope him, Falco, Gabi and Onyankopon are safe somewhere.”

“The Chancellor says he’s got his bets on Osneau,” Reiner’s footsteps are loud on the pavement and he switches to Armin’s more exposed side as a group of young boys whizz by down the street on their bicycles. “Perhaps they're there, just… staying off the radar.”

Armin chews his lips, feeling the sweat rub unpleasantly on the fabric already damp in his underarms when he folds his arms across his chest. “And that’s another problem. I don’t like Osneau. They were pro-Marley hardliners. I have a feeling they're going to be very difficult on us.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I just… hope we’ll find the Captain and the kids safe, if they are over there after all."

Reiner ducks under the cool shade of a tree by the side of the street, and Armin follows him to a bench snuggled by the foot of the trunk, plopping himself down with a deep breath. 

“Calm down. This is Captain Levi we're talking about. Maybe the fact that we can't find them means they've got themselves excellently hidden."

Armin twiddles his thumbs on his lap, not feeling very reassured. "Just… you know, I told Captain Levi to get on the flying boat–"

"And I made Gabi and Falco get on it."

"Maybe if they'd stayed with us, right now they'd be here, safer– "

"Armin," Reiner places a heavy hand on his shoulder. "We stayed on that inhospitable rocky fort for three weeks. Captain Levi couldn't have remained there with his injuries. And I didn't want the kids to suffer any more with us – we didn't even know how long we'd be there. Besides," Reiner sighs. "I don't know how the Captain would've found any peace of mind, staring at my face." 

Armin turns his head sideways to look at him and Reiner laughs awkwardly. "Yeah… I'd deserve that discomfort. But not him.”

A beat of silence later, he continues:

"He almost killed me. He should have, really. Someone should have."

"You still feel that way?"

"I do." 

Armin studies him, long and hard. Reiner's gaze is fixed on something far in the distance, his hazel irises shrouded with regret and sorrow for the sins he committed as a child and then more. It's a look he's grown familiar with seeing on Reiner, but at times he still finds it so starkly at odds with the fiercely determined and enthusiastic demeanour of the tall, hefty boy he'd shared many a lunchtime conversation with. It flashes over his face now and then, when he cracks jokes with the other guys, but most of it is lost into the wide crevices that grief and guilt have cracked into his surface over time. 

And yet, the dark circles and eyebags are less apparent. 

"You look better," Armin comments with a soft smile, nodding encouragingly when Reiner looks at him with surprise. "A little less… tortured than usual."

Another beat of silence passes before Reiner drops his face into his hands and lets out a chuckle half filled with remorse and half with relief. "I suppose… I sleep a little better."

"A little better huh," Armin suppresses a grin, thinking back to the ear splitting snoring that has become very much a part of his nighttime atmospheric noises. "Well, that's good."

"And then there's…" Reiner lifts his head, fingertips pressed firm over his mouth as he blinks at the lush green of the trees and bushes lining the other side of the street. "This place. It makes it easier to… forget. The peace, the quiet, the beauty."

A caterpillar descends on his shoulder from an invisible string dangling from an overhead branch, and Armin transfers it with a fingertip to a nearby leaf. Sunlight splintering through the dense canopy dapples the two of them and the ground in soft light sparkling in the gentle breeze. 

"Although, there are some nights when things aren't so easy." 

"It may be like that for a long time." Armin says quietly. 

Reiner nods. "Maybe forever." 

"Maybe forever." 

They sit in a shared quietness under the rustle of leaves providing them a cool refuge from the otherwise hot day. There's a pocket watch in Armin's left pocket but he doesn't bother to look at it, more than content to stay sitting in this serene silence for longer than necessary. But the consequences of expending much energy in the form of deliberation and discussion comes in the form of a rumble from their stomachs that times itself perfectly with the distant chime of a watermelon juice seller. 

"I'm starving," Reiner groans, stretching his hands overhead and standing up. "I'll get us some watermelon. You wait here." 

"Alright," Armin smiles, watching him stride away. "Reiner," He calls, making him pause. 

"Yeah?" 

"When we go home, want to play a game of chess? For old times sake?" 

Out of the shade of the tree, Reiner is washed in the bright heat of the mid-afternoon. The lines of grief etched into his face are remarkably gone, and except for the smattering of facial hair, Armin could almost say it's the same young man who had laughed loudly with him during their training years. A smile, to an extent yearning for the nostalgia of those days, finds its way across Reiner’'s mouth. 

"Yeah. Yeah I'd like that." 

Armin nods and watches him jog down the street with a promise called over his shoulder that he'll take only a minute. Closing his eyes, he slumps comfortably into the backrest of the bench.

Will it take forever for him too?

As much as he would very well deserve to carry the torment on his back for the rest of his life – a small price to pay for the colossal damage he'd inflicted not once, not twice but many times – he doesn't want to die that way. 

He wants a day to come where he'll wake up yet again, and instead of the grief, he'll feel the remnants of it sitting in his spine. A day like every other day in his life when nothing is all that different but the regret and sorrow morphs into something a little smaller, a little lighter, a little easier to carry. A day when he'll feel slightly better about a great many things. 

A day when he'll feel better about himself. 

That's alright to ask for, isn't it?

"Hey, Commander." 

The confident voice is a rude intruder into his tranquillity and Armin cracks his eyes open to see Kári standing some feet away, hands in his pockets and looking very much expectant in an entitled manner. 

"Can I sit with you?" 

Armin clears his throat and nods, making more space on the bench. "Sure."

"It's a hot day," Kári grunts when he takes a seat, and then glances sidelong at him. "Are you here alone? On a break?"

"Reiner went to get some food, and no, we just got off work for the day."

"Reiner Braun," Kári's face brightens. "He was the armoured titan, wasn't he?" 

"Yeah."

"Amazing. I've never met him personally, but Felipe's told me so much about all of you, I feel I know you guys already," He clasps his hands together. "And you were the Colossal. That's so cool."

Armin says nothing, wishing he had a chunk of watermelon – even juice would do – to occupy himself with so he wouldn't have to suppress the disgust trying to show itself on his mouth. Although, ignorance comes in many forms, shapes and sizes; he throws a quick glance at the man next to him with his messy black hair and a smirk in his green eyes, and realises he can't outright blame someone who's never seen titans or been a witness to The Rumbling for thinking that being a monster of that size was a cool feat. 

"And Miss Leonhardt was the female titan."

Armin squints into the distance, pretending to be highly interested in nothing in particular. 

"I really wish I could've seen her in action. I heard she was Marley’s pride and joy. She’s probably amazing still." Kári laughs. 

Armin rolls his tongue in his cheek, gaze steady ahead of him on the cobblestone burning hot under the sun. His irritation is unwarranted. He had never made it clear to Kári after all, that his interest in Annie would be fruitless and unnecessary. 

But Kári, oblivious to Armin's rumination, continues with increasing keenness. “You know, when I first saw her, I was so surprised. I thought someone carrying the title of female titan would’ve been– y’know, a little bigger?” He grins. “But Miss Leonhardt is so… small.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Armin is instantly ticked off. Never in his life has he wanted to bite down on some food more than now. 

“Someone like that… man,” Kári clicks his tongue, looking dreamy. “She’s amazing. I think any man who gets to be with her should be equally, if not more, amazing.”

Oh. 

Yeah.

That’s true.

But what did Kári know about Annie? And what did Armin know about Kári? 

The answer to both is simple – nothing.

“Annie’s with someone,” Armin says in a quiet voice, finding a piece of lint on the fabric on his knees to keep his fingers occupied.

Kári’s head snaps around so fast Armin’s certain he hears something crack. “She is? Who?”

Me.

Say it.

Me. Just say it. 

Could that day when he would wake up and feel better about himself not have been this morning? It's not about Annie. It's not about the others. He's slowly coming out of those feelings of inadequacy when he's around them because they're family. With a stranger it's different, especially one who's clearly interested in Annie and isn't showing any signs of dejection even after finding out she isn't available –  or so Armin thinks, going by the look in Kári’s eyes. But should it really matter what strangers think of him, when Annie’s more than content being with him?  

No, it shouldn’t matter in the least.

Me. Fucking say it. 

But the single syllable compacts into a lump in his throat and he feels like the dirt under his feet. When will he finally be able to look in the mirror and think he's enough?

"Who's she with?" Kári presses, twisting his body sideways to face Armin with greater interest. "Is it that tall guy with the goatee? Or the one with the shaved hair– or," He smacks his knee. "Don't tell me, it's Reiner Braun?" 

He isn't even a consideration huh. 

That, or Kari is smarter than he looks and did that on purpose. Misery creeps up his throat instead, forming a chuckle waiting to escape into the air, threatening to drip with disgust at his own hesitation. 

But Reiner's approaching figure swinging two bags of fresh watermelon saves him. Armin coughs, clearing the block in his throat before turning to face this guy who knows nothing about Annie. 

"By the way," He deflects. "I wanted to know something. Is there someplace here that you can treat as a burial site? Somewhere secluded."

Kári blinks at him, visibly puzzled at the abrupt change in subject. "Uh, there's the cemetery of course–"

"No, not the public cemetery. Just some place not frequented a lot, somewhere that people won't mind if you did some digging, for example."

"Oh, then there's that," Kári motions with his index finger to someplace vaguely behind them in direction. "The Highlands. Two hills over, to the west. Nobody goes there." 

"Can you walk up there?"

"Sure. Takes about forty minutes on foot. It's rugged terrain and gets pretty cold in the evenings. But if you want to dig a grave in an isolated place, it's the perfect spot." Kári's curious eyes follow Armin when he rises to stand up. "Why though? Who are you laying to rest?"

Armin offers him a brief smile. "Many people. Thanks." 

It’s one of those summer afternoons that’s stiflingly hot. The air is stagnant and unmoving for the most part and when the occasional breeze blows, everyone on the street – sellers and buyers, children and idlers – steps out of the shops to feel it on their faces. 

“This is going to get me broke,” Jean looks in dismay at the vast array of new plants, both young and mature being loaded into a cart. 

“Pieck gave you money,” Annie says, idly running her fingers over a dark green leaf glistening with water. The three of them roam around the gardening shop, peeking and peering into pots empty and full, inspecting baskets and watering cans, thumbing through packets of seeds and fertilisers. 

“Yes, and it’s not enough.” He glances over his shoulder at Connie who’s skulking behind a tower of earthen pots. “Don’t break those! I can’t pay!”

Annie shrugs distractedly. “You can just tell her that.”

“What,” Jean sounds incredulous. “And take money from her? No way.”

Annie turns around to look at him where he’s standing with folded arms beside a monstrously large potted plant. “What are you, Jean? Rough or soft?”

“Huh?”

She eyes him properly. “Sometimes you say kind things so rudely. You give off such mixed signals.”

“Thanks, ice-queen,” He rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe this is coming from the girl who barely talked to the rest of us poor guys.” He meets her gaze with a hint of mirth. “Well except Armin, of course.”

Annie ignores that tease even though he sees the embarrassment warm her cheeks. “No, just… you were kind to Mikasa.”

Jean’s face is wiped clean of all amusement. He stares at her for a long moment, unblinking, before coughing. “Why bring that up now?”

She decides to drop it. It’s not like it’s her place to say anything when she’s so horrible at dealing with her own emotions and feelings in the first place. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

Annie walks past the front desk and steps out of the cool temperatures of the shop, stretching her arms high above her head. The stone pavement is hot and she squints down the winding slope, watching the air sizzle with heat over the heads of wide brimmed straw hats and a few even fancier here and there. Her stomach grumbles and her throat is dry with thirst.

“How about some juice?” She calls into the shop where Jean pays for their purchases.

“Yeah,” Connie exits the store, taking a hold of the handles of the cart. “Excellent idea. I’m starving too.”

Jean steps out and then immediately goes back in. He returns with a set of steel hooks and several screws and tosses it into the cart as Connie begins to roll it down the hill. 

“What for?” Connie looks inquiringly at the cardboard box. “For Pieck?”

“Yeah,” Jean firmly avoids Annie’s pointed stare. “If she… if she wants to hang up baskets on the walls, she’ll need stronger hooks.”

They’ve barely left the vicinity of the gardening store when the woman managing it comes running down the slope. “Young man!” She calls breathlessly. “Young man, wait!”

“Yes?” The three stop and Jean climbs the distance between her and him, looking worried. “Sorry, did I pay short?”

“No, no, on the contrary, I just wanted to give you this,” She hands him a pot with apparently nothing inside it but soil. “As a thank you gift for the excellent business.”

“Thanks,” He takes it from her. “Uh, this is… empty?”

She laughs. “No my dear, there are dormant bulbs inside. They’ll bloom in the winter if you take care of it well.”

“Oh, right. Thanks again.”

A few glasses of fruit juices, tender coconuts, and several iced lollipops later, Annie, Jean and Connie climb uphill slowly, only the slow blowing breeze saving them from the heat. Annie keeps her eyes peeled for a glimpse of Aoife anywhere around but sees no sign of the silver haired girl and wonders if she’s indoors, too tired to sell candy. Her guilt from this morning rears its head, just a little bit – maybe she should’ve been gentler with her. 

But she doesn’t know any other way to impart what had been beaten into her. 

For now, as she licks the sticky remnants of a lollipop off a wooden stick, she pushes aside those thoughts. 

Surely, she can have some more moments of peace - that’s alright to ask for, isn’t it?

Loud and brash laughter interrupts her thoughts. Glancing to her left, she notes it coming from inside a pub whose walls almost tremble with the force of the unpleasant guffaws exploding within. 

“... and then, and then I said, if I ever see any of those fellas from Paradis, I’ll beat them to a pulp!”

Another round of laughter, and the three of them pause on their way, looking at the thin bamboo curtain swaying over the open doorway. 

“... they’re pipsqueaks, all of them! If they wanted a real man to turn into a titan, they should’ve asked me!”

“Damn right!”

“We should go,” Annie mutters. “Unless you want these guys to see us and ask for trouble. Come on.” She takes a hold of the cart and begins to push it up the slope in a hurry. 

Too late.

“Who the fuck are you calling pipsqueaks?” Connie cries, barging into the pub. 

“There they are! The pipsqueaks from Paradis!”

Annie swiftly turns to find Jean frozen in place, indignation painted over his face. She curses under her breath. There was a time and place for engaging in street fights and this was neither. She’s tired. She wants to go back home and have a nap, or more preferably, find Armin and have a nap with him–

A hulking figure of a man emerges from the pub and Connie staggers backwards. He’s large, oh, he’s large alright. Straggly long hair frames a meaty face wearing a proud and nasty smirk. He’s bloated with muscles and flesh and ego and arrogance. Thumbs tucked into a fabric belt wrapped around his wide waist, he stops just short of trampling over Jean and Connie. 

“I’ve been wanting to see you. Two here, two missing,” The man grins. “Where’s the tiny one and the big one?”

Jean, his face pale, recovers from the initial shock. “None of your business. What’ve you got against us?”

“Oh, plenty!” The nasty fucker guffaws. “Heroes of peace, my ass! Look at all of you, tiny like rats. I suppose Paradis was walled in for so long, you didn’t grow very much. And Marley’s standards for choosing their warriors sucked donkey balls.” 

Connie looks furious. “Don’t joke about that!”

Annie seethes, her knuckles white from her grip on the cart’s handle. A circle of onlookers has formed around them, murmuring and whispering to each other. Of course, there was this type too, to deal with. The kind that worshipped the ridiculous notion of brutal masculinity. 

“Alright then, let’s have a go shall we?” The large man squats, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s see how strong you are!”

Jean and Connie blanch and Annie knows at once that they’re in trouble. She wedges the cart between a few stray bricks and hurries down to the two. 

“What?” She hisses at them. “You can’t take this meatball down?”

Jean blinks at her like a fish. “Annie… there’s such a thing as matching an opponent in size and strength–”

“Bullshit.” 

“What do you want me to do? Get my ODM and slice his neck off?”

She trains her glare on Connie. “And you, why did you pick a fight if you knew you couldn't handle it?”

“I didn’t know!”

The mountainous hulk makes some disgusting noise. “I don’t have all day. Little Miss Girlfriend, you better get out of the way. Your man and I have some business here.”

In a way, Annie’s so glad Armin isn’t here. She’ll forgive the inappropriate title for that fact alone. 

So it’s come to this. She gives the two one last withering glare and they flinch; her attention then goes toward the lump of shit smirking at her. It pisses her off.

“I’ll go first,” She says, her voice calm and cool. The onlookers erupt into loud whispers, some of the words loud enough to make their way into her range of hearing. Nothing surprising about them. She’s heard variations of the same things a million times before. 

The man gapes at her in incredulity before exploding into grating laughter that makes her want to knock his teeth out. “You?! No offence missy, but I don’t fight little girls.”

“Try me,” Annie’s eyes bore into his. “If you can’t beat me, you don’t stand a chance with those two.”

“That’s funny, but outta the way now.”

“Scared?” Her eyes flash in a challenge. “Surely, you don’t think a little girl like me can be stronger than them? No way, right?”

What Annie thinks is a jaw – it’s shapeless – clenches tight as he considers her words. But it works, his ego has been provoked and he bristles. Begrudgingly, he accepts her threat – she wonders if he understood it as such seeing as how little space he seems to have for a brain – and balls his meaty fists. 

“Alright, then,” He sneers. “I can be a gentleman. But afterwards, missy, maybe we can find something to talk about when I’m done with your man there.”

Again. Wrong title. 

Annie sighs.

He lunges toward her, but she steps aside coolly, sending him stumbling into the middle of the street. He whirls around and pounces in her direction, and she grabs onto shoulders too large for her liking and delivers her knee into his gut with the force of a hundred cannons. He gasps, spit flying out of his mouth, but tries to grab her waist – no fucking way – her summer shoes scratch unpleasantly on the stone pavement when she yanks fistfuls of his shirt and twirls around with her back to him. He has no time to react when she lifts him off the ground and throws him down immediately after. The crowd gasps and most cheer, a few don't – it really doesn’t matter to her either way.

The whole thing lasts less than a minute, really.

Annie wipes off a bead of sweat that isn’t there and leans down. The man lies on his back in front of her, quivering and trembling in agony – she did hear a mild crunch when he landed – and he cowers in fear when she tilts her head inquiringly. 

“Too bad,” She says. “You’ve failed the first round. I’ll still let you have a go with them, if you want.”

All she receives in response is a whimper and she straightens her back. The onlookers regard her with awe and fear.

Great. She’s caused a ruckus. 

“Let’s go,” She pushes past the stony figures that are Jean and Connie, mouths agape and flushed red; only she knows it to be from embarrassment. 

“Young miss!” A shrill voice calls after her when she rolls the cart uphill. “Who’s the strongest Hero of Paradis?!”

Annie looks at the small boy in the crowd; he’s restless with excitement.

“Someone you’d never believe!” She calls back and continues walking, not waiting for the other two to catch up to her first.

“Sorry,” Connie sounds ashamed as they pass the bakeries. “That was… stupid of me.”

“It’s fine,” Annie replies. “I guess dumb shitfucks like him can be found even in this peaceful place.”

“He was way bigger though,” Jean says. “Are you okay? Hurt anywhere?”

“I’m fine,” She shrugs. “I was taught very young to take down a man several times my size.”

Connie bumps her away and takes hold of the cart. It frees up Annie’s hands and she wriggles her fingers by her sides. There’s a funny ache on her little finger and she inspects it – there’s a small crack on one edge of the moss ring. 

Shit.  

“Oh!” Jean exclaims. “Isn’t that the ring Armin won at the festival?”

Connie leans over, a wide grin spreading over his face. “Yeah.” He peers into Annie’s face. “He gave it to you?”

Now she’s the one who flushes with embarrassment as they exchange low whistles of appreciation. 

“Well, our Commander moves fast,” Jean grins. “It shouldn’t surprise us anymore.”

“Shut up,” She mumbles.

None of them say anything for a bit, but Jean takes a deep breath before continuing with a genuinely warm smile. “I suppose he’s a very different person with you. And you look happy. So does he. I’m glad, you know. That both of you came out alive from that… nightmare.”

Annie says nothing, choosing to stare at a fat cat lazing on a wall instead. 

And strangely, Connie’s fallen terribly silent as well.

She glances at him, his silence piquing Jean’s interest in a few minutes. “What’s up?”

He works his jaws, eyes boring holes into the plant filled cart. 

“Connie?” Jean repeats.

“It’s just,” He takes a deep breath. “Seeing that ring on your finger and you smiling… and Armin so happy too, I just– I just remembered how close it came to not happening entirely.”

It comes out of nowhere.

An uneasy feeling.

“Well, yeah,” Annie says. “All of us… nearly died.”

“No. Not that,” Connie shakes his head. “There’s something you don’t know. And I think I should tell you.”

The uneasiness rises and prickles all over her skin. 

Jean interjects. “Connie–”

“No. She… she deserves to know.”

“I deserve to know what?” Annie’s breathless and scared.

They all stop under the shade of a large tree. Connie lets go of the cart and Annie takes it, if only to have something to do with her hands.

“That day,” He shuffles from foot to foot. “When we met after the rumbling began. Do you know why Armin and I were there, with Falco and Gabi?”

Annie’s thoroughly confused and highly uneasy. She thinks back to that afternoon, still fresh in her mind. Of course, how would she ever forget that first sighting of him after so many years, almost unrecognisable, but still the same blue eyes– no. Focus. She frowns, trying to recall her exact conversation with Gabi later that day. 

“Gabi told me that you were all regrouping after a split up. I didn’t question it. Why?”

“We weren’t regrouping. Well, we were, in a way, but I…” Connie trails off.

“What?” She says sharply. Whatever this is, it isn’t good and she’s not sure she wants to hear any of it, and yet, if this is about Armin–

“I took Falco to my mother, in Ragako. She was lying there as a titan, you know. I was going to… feed him to her. To turn her back human,” He looks distraught with shame. “And Armin came after me, with Gabi–”

No. 

Her body grows cold. 

No, no, no.

“–and he tried to talk me out of it, but I was too… no, there was no excuse for that, I didn’t listen to him, and–”

Annie sees Jean grimace out of the corner of her eyes before her vision blurs with swift tears carrying horror. 

No, no, no.

“–he was going to jump into my mother’s mouth in exchange for Falco’s life, but– but finally I… no he jumped, and I… I got him out of the way.”

Annie doesn’t hear a single noise. There’s silence all around and it sounds horrible.

Connie wrings his hands. “Armin made me promise not to tell you. He made Falco and Gabi promise too. He didn’t want you to know about it.”

She's rendered mute. Mute with shock, mute with terror as though it's only coming and hasn't already passed. She had seen him that day only minutes after he'd been inches away from death's door. 

He's so stupid.

No, no he isn't. She's stupid. 

What good had she been inside the damned crystal? 

She'd shared a horseback ride with him back to the others, feeling the body heat of his wider back against her cheek. He hadn't questioned her proximity. She hadn't questioned anything at all. 

There had been a flimsy wire between that moment, and nothingness. 

Many miracles had kept him alive, none of which she had been around to witness, but now there is one more that she must add to the repertoire, one that she knows the details of – is ignorance really bliss? Knowing feels so terrible. 

"You can hit me," Connie hangs his head. "Beat me up. I deserve it all." 

Annie lifts her eyes to stare at him. As if beating him up would be enough for what he'd done and almost not done. The thought that she might have been standing under this tree, buying plants for Pieck with these two, and returning to a house which would never have seen Armin or felt his presence within, numbs her for a long second. 

She'd have lived in this beautiful Village with only a memory of a boy she'd last seen four years ago. 

Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have been here at all. 

The numbness gives way to agony that bubbles up inside her with rapid force, and it awakens all the itching and crawling she'd forgotten over the course of the afternoon. Today has just been too much. She isn't built to feel so much all at once. 

"Go ahead and punch me," Connie pleads, and it's all at odds with how peacefully the leaves rustle above their heads in the summer breeze. 

Annie's tears begin to fall instead. 

The two boys freeze in shock. She brings her hands up to her face, and the cart starts to roll away on its squeaky wheels. 

"A–Annie?! Fuck– the plants!" Jean sprints down the street chasing the wildly careening cart that seems to be fleeing with much glee. 

Connie takes hold of her shoulders. "Annie, shit– I'm so sorry, of course I'm so sorry, but don't cry, please–" 

She stumbles to the bench at the foot of the tree and sits down heavily, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. How embarrassing, but she feels weak and helpless. Controlling feelings had been an easier thing to do when she hadn't built connections, forged relationships and made friends – there hadn't been all that much to feel apart from remorse anyway. And now… she's got him, and them, and a little girl who can't do without her. 

Fucking hell. The sunlight dappling the ground and her skin in a shimmering bokeh doesn't feel warm enough. Her fingers are soon soaked in salt water. 

Jean returns, wheezing, the cart still rattling loudly behind him. It’s lost a wheel.

"Connie, you idiot–" He pants. "You made her cry!"

"I'm sorry!" It's directed at both Jean and Annie. 

How can ‘sorry’ cut it? Her tears fall harder and the two start to panic. They fall to their knees in front of her and fire rapid questions at her hidden face.

"What's that thing you like? Uh, that cake–"

"Shortbread?"

"No, we ate it in Paradis, it's that round thing with the cherry in the middle–"

"Melon bread!"

"Not melon bread! It's a fucking… bun like thing–"

"Croissant!"

"No! What's wrong with you?"

"She eats a variety of buns and cakes, I don't even know half of them!" 

"Goddamn – listen, it's round and it's got some white thing on top–"

"Sugar buns!" Annie finally snaps. 

Jean and Connie look enlightened. "That's the one! Alright, how much money do you have?" One empties his pockets while the other collects the money into a handkerchief. "Go buy as many as you can."

"Are you bribing me with sweets?" Annie wipes her cheeks just as Connie runs off to the bakeries. "I can't believe you two." Her nose is clogged, her voice thick. 

Jean winces. "Annie, the thing is, Connie did that. It was terrible. We all agree. I don't think he wants forgiveness. Yes it could have easily gone the other way, but Armin is… okay. He’s alive. So… don't cry, alright? Both of us are going to get into serious trouble if Armin sees you like this." 

Funnily enough, that draws a wet chuckle out of her. "That's ridiculous." 

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think you know how scary Armin can be. He's fiercely protective of you."

"He's not like that."

"Oh, he is," He laughs. "Maybe one day you'll see it yourself."

Connie returns with half a dozen sugar buns cradled in his arms and both boys watch Annie munch on them with her many grumbles and glares. Her tears stop, the itchiness subsides, her skin warms, and once again, she hears the birds chirp on the branches overhead. At some point she starts to feel too full and thrusts a bun each into their hands for them to eat. They get off their knees and share the bench with her, on either side. 

They had all made mistakes at some point in their lives – it came as a part of choosing to be human, after all. That’s what Armin would say.

"I'm not going to forget," Annie finally tells Connie, who's still subdued. "But I'll forgive you. Because… he's alive."

He looks far too shocked before his shoulders slump in relief. "I don't deserve that but… thanks."

"If he wasn't alive–"

"He's alive," Jean cuts her off. "Don't think about anything else right now."

Connie offers her his handkerchief and she uses it to blow her nose as loud as a trumpet – he tries not to grimace but she doesn't miss the downward curl of his mouth. This is the least she can do if not break his bones. 

"Let's go home." 

Going home should've been the easy part. The last leg of this crazy afternoon journey that required the least effort. But just as the three of them turn the corner from the path and step into their garden, trouble does come.

In the form of Armin, sitting on the verandah, reading a book. 

"Hey! Welcome back," He grins, eyes roaming over Annie first, then Jean, then Connie and then to the wagon full of shaking leaves. "Pieck was just wondering why you were taking so long."

Annie stares at him.

"Yeah, haha…" Connie forces an awkward chuckle. "Trouble… choosing… plants." 

Annie stares at him. And her eyes, already red-rimmed, puffy and swollen, begin to well with tears again, but she blinks them back furiously. 

Too late. He's seen it. And his eyes narrow. 

"Annie? Have you been… crying?" Armin's eyes flick towards Jean and Connie in succession, a frown forming between his brows. 

"Well, shit," Jean gulps. 

Annie rolls onto her stomach on his bed, head hanging off the wrong edge of the soft mattress. It makes all the blood rush to her face with immense discomfort but it bothers her less than the fact that he’s been in the bath for longer than an hour now. For the millionth time since she came into his room to find the sound of water running behind the bathroom door, she heaves a sigh. My bath-times are much shorter, she thinks with exasperation, glaring at the window beyond which the sky is black with twinkling stars.

Something as simple as running Pieck’s errands and helping her with her plants has exhausted her already and it surprises her how tiny a proportion of her energy it would’ve constituted before she lost her titan powers. It also surprises her how quickly her eyes leak tears, how quickly she feels at home in his bed, and how easily she finds comfort in something as small as his scent. Annie takes fistfuls of his bed sheets and brings them to her nose for a deep inhale. 

But surprise and comfort aside, she may not ever find herself in greater shock than the kind she experienced this afternoon. The fact that there had been nothing but the flimsy spools of wire in the ODM gear between Armin, and no Armin.

Her heart’s still beating too fast when the bathroom door opens with a click and the fresh scent of soap wafts into the air.

“Annie,” Armin smiles, looking pleasantly surprised when he steps out of the bathroom clad in a pair of dark pants and the wet towel draped over his shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Annie’s voice muffles into the sheets, and she worms her way to the centre of the bed so her head no longer dangles uncomfortably over the edge. She’d missed dinner with the others with a too-late bath of her own. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” Armin nods, crossing the room to his cupboard while towelling at his ears. “Have you?”

“Mhmm,” Her eyes follow his lean figure, staring at his bare upper body when he rummages through a stack of clothes for a shirt. To think she wouldn’t have been in this room, wouldn’t have watched him dress after a clean bath, wouldn’t have known how a little crease forms between his brows when he’s so lost in thought – if there had just been a second of hesitation, a second where the anchors weren’t fired in time…

“It’s been a long day,” Armin grunts when he tugs the towel off his neck and drapes it over a drying stand in the corner. “Quite hot too.” And then, he turns around to head to the bathroom door to close it.

Annie gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.

“What?” Armin whirls around in alarm. 

She gets no sound out, her mouth hanging open in more unexpected shock. Feebly, she points a finger at his back where long scratches coloured bright red run between his shoulder blades. “Your… back…”

Armin’s eyebrows squiggle in confusion for half a second before his face and shoulders relax in relief. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.”

“I– shit– I’m sorry,” Annie stammers, watching him shrug a loose shirt over his head. 

“Don’t be, it’s really nothing,” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair before bending to pick up a laundry basket piled with sober coloured clothes. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Annie closes her eyes, feeling terrible all over again. Her fingers tremble and she stuffs her hands between her stomach and the mattress. Of course. Violence is coded into every fibre of her being. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’d hurt him, and she’ll also hurt Aoife the same way, because she just doesn’t know any other way, she just can’t be gentle, she’ll be just like her fa–

“I’m violent,” She mumbles, voice drenched in guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Armin glances up at her from his task of shaking his laundry pile to check for loose items in the pockets. He abandons the chore and moves to sit on the edge of the bed next to her instead. 

“Don’t say that,” He whispers, leaning down to kiss the hinge of her jaw. “You’re not violent. Not in any way or form.”

“In the form of those… scratches,” Annie whispers back, feeling like she doesn’t even deserve to enjoy the whiff of soap left on his skin. 

“Those came from a place of love,” Armin pinches her chin lightly between forefinger and thumb to coax her face out from where it’s half buried in the sheets. He kisses her nose softly and despite feeling ripped off the right, Annie inhales more of his sharp, clean scent. 

“Besides,” He pulls away to sit back up straight, looking a little shy. “I’m kind of proud of it.” He averts his eyes, casting them down at the floor instead. “The scratches.”

Annie blinks, thrown off guard. “You’re– you like it?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles, embarrassed. He looks at her, and Annie can’t tell if he’s being sly or genuinely shy. “Is that too weird?”

She swallows a lump of whatever it is that just lodged itself into her throat – her heart, out of happiness perhaps – and shakes her head, violently. “I– no. No it’s not.”

Armin laughs. “You’re cute.”

Annie groans loudly. All day, she’s been oscillating wildly from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other, only, both have been terrible. And now, she finds herself so easily at the middle of the scale feeling calmer, lighter, and happier.

“Cute, not violent,” He traps her nose between his knuckles and tugs gently, pulling a squeak out of her. Flopping on his back on the bed, he lies parallel to her and holds a question in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“I’m okay.”

His eyes rove over her face, studying and scrutinising, and she feels like she’s under Hange’s microscope. She watches his tongue dance under the skin of his cheek wondering how much he can see. One of these days, he’s going to straight up read her mind and then she’ll be in serious trouble, won’t she?

“You know I’m here for you?” He finally says. “Always?”

Annie feels relieved that he doesn’t prod. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” He smiles with a nod that suggests he’s satisfied with that for the time being. “So what have you been up to all day?”

She pulls her hands from under her stomach and holds her fingers to his nose. Armin takes a long sniff. “Mm. Dirt. Delicious.”

A laugh escapes her mouth and he looks very pleased. “Pruning and planting, and more pruning and planting. Then to the market to buy more plants for Pieck and you know the rest.”

“Yeah,” His smile morphs into a frown quickly after. “Are you sure Jean and Connie didn’t do something to make you cry?”

“I told you, I just had something in my eye,” She lies. 

His eyes narrow just the slightest bit, but again, he doesn’t prod further. “Hm. Well–”

“What did you do?” She deflects, and he lifts his eyes to the ceiling above. 

“Oh, boring stuff. Trying to make some foreign relations policies for the Fall. And still no word about Captain Levi’s whereabouts. Or Falco’s and Gabi’s.”

Annie reaches a fingertip to trace along the bridge of his nose. “You’re worried about them.”

“Yeah,” He admits. “Though they’re probably fine and just off the radar for safety. I have faith in them.” His eyes fall closed when she traces a line along his eyebrows. “I just don’t have faith in myself.”

Her fingers stop, and he cracks an eye open at her. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

“No–” Another lump forms in her throat, and this time it’s not her heart, jumping with joy. “No–I… talk to me.”

Armin doesn’t answer, staring resolutely up at the ceiling. 

“Hey,” She props herself up on both elbows, scooting closer to him. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing new,” He breathes. “Same old. You know it. Everyone knows it.”

It’s Annie’s turn to study him, and she does it quietly. A pause stretches into a silence she’s unsure how to break. But eventually she decides to just ask, without worrying too much about how she puts it. “You don’t believe in yourself?”

“I don’t like myself.”

It feels like a slap on the face and it hurts her, as much as he looks hurt himself. 

“But…” Annie feels at a loss. “But Armin, you’re… amazing.” She swipes her thumb across his cheekbone to back up her next words, “And it’s not just me who thinks that. Jean and Connie, Reiner and Pieck–”

She stops when his lips curl into a smile too derogatory of himself. Annie feels a little cold. 

“You don’t believe me?” It comes as a breathless whisper.

“No,” He shakes his head and his voice is firm. “No, I believe you. I believe you and the others too.” He lifts a hand to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “But I don’t believe myself. I just don’t like myself enough to believe myself.”

Annie opens her mouth, but he continues, “Every time I feel your love, or the others’ love, I feel so happy. And then it just… gets swallowed. Into a void.” 

Armin pats his heart. “There’s something in here that doesn’t let me feel happy about myself. Every little bit of love I get, it disappears into… someplace where I can’t find it. I wake up the next day hating myself as always.” He meets her scared eyes.

“And I can’t let it continue this way. I’ll ruin myself. I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin us,” His hand finds hers still resting on his cheek and kneads into the grooves of her knuckles. “And that’s the last thing I want.”

“What do you want?” She whispers.

Armin takes a deep breath. “I want to be able to feel happy about myself without anybody’s help.”

Annie puts her palm over his heart that beats steadily and bravely.

And it beats with life. A life she wouldn’t have witnessed at all if not for several bloody miracles and then one – one, that would’ve stolen him away in a second and she’d never have met him on that dining table at all. 

She knows how to protect him from a physical force. She knows how to protect him from a knife, a gun; a threat whether human or inhuman. 

But how does she protect him from himself? This void in his heart she can’t even touch?

“How can I help?” She croaks with tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Once again, she’s been pushed too easily on the verge of tears and wonders how long this has been in the making, this fragile, highly sensitive part of herself she had not known the existence of. Or maybe this part was born only for him to know.

Today has been too much and in more ways than one.

Armin smiles softly, the pads of his fingers pressing against the corners of her eyes to prevent the fall of teardrops. “You already do, Annie. So, so much.”

“But–”

“Alright, if you insist,” He rolls his eyes comically and sports a humorous grin. “There’s only one way, and it’s called a kiss.”

“That’s not funny, I’m being serious.” Annie frowns.

“So am I. Now I’m waiting,” He puckers his lips exaggeratedly.

She throws a leg between both of his to get closer and kisses him square on the mouth. One firm, hard press, and she pulls away, much to his dissatisfaction. 

“No?”

“No. Not enough at all,” He breathes when she complies by pressing her lips to his yet another time. When she pulls away again, Armin frowns with evident displeasure.

“I have a lot of problems and if you’re going to fix them, I need, let’s say, something like three hours of–”

Annie smacks him on the shoulder gently, laughing. “Stop that!”

“You’re laughing again, that’s good,” He cranes his neck up to plant a peck on her nose. “I don’t want you to cry, because of me or any other reason.”

Her laughter subsides and she falls silent, admiring his face. He always solves her problems. Consciously or unconsciously. She’d like to do the same, in equal measure, if not more. She just… doesn’t know how. 

She can, however, do that again.  

“Armin,” It feels so long ago, when she first did this. Hopefully, he’ll get it.

“Yeah?”

“Armin.”

“Yeah,” He watches the shape of his name form on her lips as she says it, and smiles. He gets it.

“Armin,” She kisses him. 

“Mhmm,” He hums into her mouth, sliding a hand up her thigh situated snugly between his legs. Kissing him is always an intoxication if it’s not the sweet, innocent ones he sometimes graces her with. Kissing him like this is always like teetering on the edge of a great release, a canyon of pleasure she can’t wait to fall into. Maybe it’s because of all the long years she went without a sense of touch, but she hopes he doesn’t mind when she deepens the slant of her head much too quickly, and by the way he draws her head closer, no, he doesn’t mind at all–

“Annie,” He murmurs, breaking away gently. “There’s something in your pocket– it’s poking my leg…”

Almost too late by the time coherence crashes back into her brain and she grabs his hand that’s sliding up her thigh to where her pocket begins, the small occupant within it rubbing into his thigh. 

Annie panics, and she peels away from him, her heart hammering away inside her rib cage. 

Fuck. She should’ve left it in her room! She’s gotten too used to keeping it on her person that–

“What is it?” Armin blinks lazily, half-lidded eyes growing wider by the minute. “A pen? Or–” He reaches to pull her closer again, his hand dangerously close to her pocket, and Annie scrambles within the deepest recesses of her head to find a convincing explanation for the size and shape of the small bomb she keeps a secret from him. 

“Lipstick,” She blurts. 

… Fuck? 

They stare at each other.

But his hand pauses. 

“Lip… stick?” He slowly repeats, his eyes dropping down to her lips for the briefest second.

“Lipstick,” Annie’s throat is far too dry when she carefully removes her leg. “Uh, Pieck gave it to me. She… she bought it and… well she bought too many and she gave me one.” She swallows. “Yeah.” She adds forcefully as an afterthought. 

Armin stares at her, his face unreadable. Then he stares at her lips for what feels like an impossibly long time. Eventually his thumb joins the object of his interest when it brushes along her lower lip. 

“Hm,” Is the only sound he makes while her heart continues to race. Does he know it’s a lie? Can he tell? Shit, she’s so careless–

“What… colour is it?” 

“What?” 

“Colour,” Armin repeats so softly it’s a mere breath of air. “Of the lipstick?”

“Oh– uh– red,” She nods, maybe a little too hard.

“Red huh,” A slow, lazy smile spreads over his lips and she doesn’t understand it; she’s still trying to calm down from the near disaster that happened not two seconds ago. Annie swallows thickly, thinking frantically of how she can change the subject altogether.

Why, focus on his heart beating under her of course. The heart that almost ceased to exist. 

The heart that contains a void she can’t see. 

A void that hurts him and causes him pain. 

It sobers her up very quickly. 

“Armin,” She calls softly, drawing his attention back up to her eyes once more. “I want to help you out more,” She presses her palm over his heart. “Solve this–”

Armin takes her palm and kisses the inside of it before gifting her with one of the warmest smiles she’s ever received from him.

“Thank you Annie,” He returns her palm to his heart.

“But this might be something I have to fight on my own.”

Chapter Text

There are four questions in Annie’s diary. 

The first three on the front of the soft book are easier to think about, though not all have answers. 

What is my love for him? How deep does it run? – For now, it’s boundless, like time. 

Who is Annie Leonhardt? –

Do I deserve to do good, and is that even okay? – Yes, because there is still time to be good. 

The fourth question is at the back, but curiosity had made her write it there, and embarrassment will not let her look at it anymore. 

Today, Annie chews her lip staring out the window where the sky hasn’t lightened yet, and adds another question under the three at the front.

What if I’m too scared to do the good things? –

She stares at the scratchy handwriting for a long minute. Holding  a pen still feels strange; writing in itself has become an unfamiliar task, and writing like this, into a diary, is alien. But it does help, she thinks, looking at the marks of ink on the smooth paper, like tendrils of messy, heavy thoughts pulled straight from her head and laid onto a sheet where they make better sense. Somewhat. 

This new question comes as a result of the phantom insects biting her skin every morning. But no matter how long she spends staring at it, she knows she won’t find the answers within the walls of her room. 

A heavy sigh accompanies her rise from the bed, and she dresses into her training clothes – an oversized shirt and loose shorts, and exits her room to head downstairs. Reiner’s snoring makes her grimace  – it seems he’ll be a nuisance to her for the rest of her life even without his ridiculously useless titan powers – but she swings open his door anyway and sneaks into his room. She knows he has a pocket watch somewhere on his table and a minute of rummaging in the dark soon has her slipping it into her pocket. He won’t miss it. And if he does, then he deserves that. 

Crossing the rest of the corridor, she next slips into Armin’s room where he’s fast asleep, his handsome features relaxed and peaceful. Annie leans down, holding her loose hair to the side in a fist so they don’t tickle him awake, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. That’s how she says good morning these days, before heading to Aoife’s training. 

Her routine has changed, a little bit, and with that idle thought, she puts on her shoes in the foyer and steps out into the still-dark morning to head toward the waterfalls. 

She may have taken on the responsibility of training Aoife, yes, but it isn’t a place she really wants to be at. To Annie, it’s much less a matter of finding herself in a spot of nature and more the qualms of returning to her own childhood. For roughly two weeks now she's subjected herself every morning to vivid imaginations of a past she'd buried deep inside herself. Every morning she takes deep breaths under the rush of the waterfalls, reminding herself that those sensations belong to a place she doesn't have to go back to anymore. And every morning she runs away when it gets too much, leaving an exhausted girl behind to see herself home. 

How long does she have to put herself through it? Annie thinks of this, and many other questions while feeling the cool air blow through her hair. Her legs are slow and sluggish, her steps are heavy and reluctant. Her body doesn't want to go back to those traumatic early days of her life, but her heart takes her there anyway because she's made a promise. 

It’s funny. Two months ago, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. She wouldn’t have cared. 

Or… would she have?

There again, is a question of identity. 

When the weather beats down hard 

as soon as you’re born, and then 

treats you with the kindness 

of gentle rain much after, 

do you feel lost, 

or do you feel found?  

A little poem Marlowe always hummed to himself when the Military Police went about their daily business of doing nothing at all. Annie hadn’t understood it then, but now… 

The questions keep piling up while the answers keep waiting to be found somewhere at the depths of the difficult sea, however, she does know that her heart contains so much more space than she’s aware of. All kinds and shapes of people have found their way in and now call it a home. Aoife included. 

"Miss!" A breathy, raspy voice calls to her. Annie swings her head to the right to see an elderly man sitting on a bench by a storefront, a steaming cup raised to his mouth. His head and shoulders are covered in a thick scarf from under which he lifts a wrinkled hand to beckon her close. She blinks, wondering if she knows him before the familiarity of the storefront brings recognition floating up to the surface of her mind. It's the stamp maker. 

Annie swerves off the middle of the street toward him. Without his pince-nez and wispy white hair on display, she finds him unrecognisable. Through the steam, he smiles warmly at her. "Good morning. Where are you off so early?"

She fidgets. "For a walk." 

He nods, patting the empty space on the bench to his left. "Have a seat, I have some more tea to spare." 

"That's… that's okay, I have to go–"

"Come now my dear, spend some time with a lonely old man," His voice is kind and humorous, and after hesitating, Annie finally sits next to him. On his other side, there's a teapot and another cup into which he pours her a generous amount of piping hot tea. "It’s dry ginger tea. Very good for your health.”

Annie blows some of the steam before taking a sip. She winces – it burns her tongue and throat with the pungent taste. “It’s spicy. Too spicy.”

“And very good for your health,” He laughs. “Sometimes the things beneficial for us in the long run don’t taste the way we’d like them to.”

She glances between him and the hot cup in her hands and drinks quietly, feeling rather comforted by the warmth of the spicy liquid flowing down her throat at this quiet hour of day. In the distance, the horizon begins to burn violet with the incoming sunrise. There’s nobody out on the streets yet, and the fallen leaves litter storefronts and the garden walls of houses. In the next minutes that pass, the man slowly peels his scarf off and folds it on the bench beside him.

It’s only in the growing light that Annie notices the signboard above the stamp maker’s store. Oliver's Stamps.

“Is… Oliver, your name?” She asks. His wrinkled eyes look very surprised before he shakes all over with a hearty laugh. 

“My dear! We have met thrice and you didn’t know this!”

Annie grimaces, feeling sheepish. “I… In the past I never really paid much attention to names and places. I just…” She shrugs helplessly at her well-established bad habit, realising she can’t say aloud the next part: everywhere I went, everyone I met, I was supposed to destroy. 

She’d been prepared to forget all of the 104th, prepared to forget the town she called ‘home’, and the person she called a ‘roommate’. She’d been prepared.

It just didn’t happen, in the end.  

Oliver eyes her with a small smile. “Oh but you do consider some names to be very special.”

Oh god, she averts her eyes. There was a reason she had avoided him and the store since then, damnit. 

“So when are you getting married?”

It comes, and Annie’s still not prepared enough. At a loss for words and blushing scarlet, she stares at him with wide eyes. “I’m not! I told you that when I– when I… took the… hanko.” Her insistent tone of voice trails off into a mumble.

“No?” He tilts his head with intrigue. “You didn’t present it to him then?”

Annie huffs, wishing this misunderstanding had never happened. “I didn’t. I just– wait a minute,” She looks at him accusatorily. “You made it for me even though I said I didn’t want it. You made me take it.”

“I didn’t make you take anything, you took it home on your own,” He calmly says. “Because you wanted it so badly.”

She grumbles under her breath, taking a noisy sip of the tea. Her cup is half empty and she clears her throat after a brief silence. “Anyway, I’m not… presenting it to him. He’s never going to know about it.”

Oliver looks worried. “Oh dear.”

Annie looks at him with rising horror. “What?”

“I saw the young Commander Arlert many weeks ago,” He brings a hand to his mouth. “And I might have congratulated him heartily.” 

Her heart jumps to her throat and she stares at him, aghast. “You what?”

Oliver shakes his head gently as if to reassure her. “But I didn’t say anything about the hanko because I assumed he already knew. Now that I think about it, he did appear rather confused.”

Heart galloping at too fast a pace, Annie grips the cup so tightly, she almost breaks it into smithereens. Secrets are so hard; they always have been, ever since she was sent to Paradis with a huge one to start with, but this is one she can’t ever afford to have out of the bag. “You can’t tell him. Did you tell anyone else?” Her tone is harsh but it’s too late by the time she starts to feel bad about it.

“No my dear, I don’t talk about such things with anybody,” Oliver’s eyes are honest and truthful as he takes a long drink of his tea. “And I don’t have any record of making the hanko for you. Nobody knows.”

It’s so many minutes and seconds before she finally begins to calm down from her panic. Annie exhales deeply and finishes off her cup of tea. The sky is much lighter now and she realises Aoife must be waiting for her anxiously, probably wondering if the training has abruptly stopped for good – and she’d have a valid reason to suspect that. Annie had abandoned her under the tree without so much as a warning after all. She stands. 

“Um, thanks for the tea,” Oliver smiles as he nods wordlessly and takes the cup from her outstretched hand. “And… please don’t tell anybody about it. The hanko.”

“I promise,” He tells her. “But may I ask why?”

Annie squirms in her place, fiddling with the moss ring on her little finger. Confiding in people was not a thing she did. 

But it spills out of her anyway, and she wonders why, in front of this stranger. 

“It’s just… sometimes I do these things and then I get scared.” It’s true of the hanko. It’s also true of Aoife. It’s true of the time she pulled Armin’s hood off his head on those grassy fields, and of the time she followed him to the tunnel made ready to trap her. All her life, she’s made many decisions, knowing they’ll bring her trouble, and let her actions take her there regardless. “I’m a coward,” She adds. 

Oliver studies her quietly and says nothing for so long that Annie thinks this is the end of it; she should just bid an awkward goodbye and be on her way. But then he speaks.

“I think you’ve got it wrong. If you’re scared and do it anyway, that’s not cowardice. There’s a chasm, my dear, a big one, between doing and not doing at all,” He looks at her as though peering over the pince-nez that isn’t there. “If you do, in spite of being scared, then what that says about you, is that you're a very brave and kind young woman.”

Annie meets his gaze, letting his words sink in slowly.

He nods encouragingly. “Do it all scared.”

When she gets to the waterfalls, Aoife’s sitting quietly next to a set of rocks bordering the plunge pool, her face pale with worry. She scrambles to her feet at the first sight of Annie coming through the pine trees.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” She says, shoulders sagging with relief. 

Annie purses her lips with guilt. “Sorry. Something happened and I ran late,” The young girl shakes her head as if to reassure her that all that matters is that she’s back. “But uh… in future, if I’m not here in fifteen minutes, go home.” 

“Why?” Aoife looks puzzled. 

“Because I don’t want you to wait all morning here for me,” Annie says. “If I’m not here in fifteen minutes, it means no training that day. For whatever reason, I wasn’t able to come, and we’ll continue the next day. Got that?”

Aoife nods. “Okay.”

“Good,” Annie takes out Reiner’s pocket watch – now hers – and clicks it open. “Today I’m making you do run-walk-run to build endurance. Run as fast as you can for forty seconds, walk for two minutes. I’ll tell you when to switch.”

The training begins and so do the unsavoury memories and the itching. She hugs herself tightly while watching Aoife transition from a sprint to an unsteady walk and back to a sprint. Every time she yells out run! and walk! and run! again, over the noisy crashing of powerful water nearby, it’s not her voice that she hears, but another; a voice that had been so much more cruel than it sounded these days. 

To distract from the bugs crawling beneath her skin, she focuses on the loud bird calls from the sky-high trees surrounding the cascades. Sometimes they’re trill melodies, other times they are shrill cries. There’s a fleeting glimpse of a rabbit scampering into the densely covered forest floor.

Yeah. This is not that place. There is no mud here, just grass.  

“Try to shift into a smooth walk,” Annie directs when Aoife staggers from her fast paced run. “The smoother, the better.”

(“Didn’t I tell you not to limp? Next time I catch you limping, you’re not having any supper.”)

She shudders. No, this is not that place. There is no mud here, just grass.

Aoife, who’s been miraculously injury free – from what Annie can see of her anyway – for the past several weeks, tries her hardest and tries her best to follow every instruction. She’s obedient and quick to learn, and Annie supposes that this behaviour comes from a different upbringing; abusive father aside, at least the surroundings she’s grown up in are kinder. Her willingness to perform her best also, no doubt, comes from a place that wants to see change, a body that’s fed up of being weak, and a yearning to grow stronger. 

Annie on the other hand, had been forced into deference and high performance. Before joining the Warrior programme, during those years when she should have made friends with people and not the slush under her nose, when she should’ve seen the sun and not the spider on the ceiling of her room feasting on its prey, when she should’ve learned to laugh and not tend to her wounds, bruises and sprains in fierce silence – she had been forced to learn how to never make a mistake, and how to excel at everything from the first try. 

That had taken some time to learn. The hard way.

“A–Annie, my leg–” Aoife pants, her face pulling into a wince as she slows down from her run despite not having been instructed to.

(A rough hand on the crown of her head. “Did I say you could slow down?”)

Annie just blinks, feeling cold all over. That day had been very chilly, and the rain made everything worse. All the insects were out, the kind that stank, the kind that itched, the kind that looked downright grotesque. 

(“You aren’t going to stop.” Her face slams into the clayey mud, and through teary eyes and eyelashes dripping with the rain, she stares at a centipede just inches from her nose, watching its antennae quiver.)

“Annie…” The small girl’s voice sounds pained, and a thud indicates she’s fallen to the ground.

More than her father’s punishing voice and painful actions, however, mother nature had forced her into obedience, and shaped her into perfection. She hadn’t made a mistake after that day. Never again did her cheek touch that mud again. Never again did she come into contact with those dreadful itchy insects. 

Annie looks at the majestic waterfalls before her. There’s a small cave on the side of the cliff where the water doesn’t fall, thanks to a tree growing from within it that splits the water neatly into two curtains. A mother eagle perches inside the dry warmth, feeding her babies deep into their throats. Wise, intelligent eyes look back at her, studying, gauging. 

Her eyes well up with tears. 

Because she had always been so, so very hungry after each harsh session. So hungry, her stomach screaming, and acidity making her cry with pain. But she always waited three hours to eat anything at all. Another form of endurance, that’s what he called it. 

A shaky exhale. A few steps forward. A steel ring on one finger, a moss ring on another. The weight of a hanko in her pocket carrying the name of someone who had taught her the real form and beauty of love and kindness. 

Annie stops in front of Aoife, whose hair is stuck to the sides of her cheeks from the profuse sweating, crumpled on the grass with a nasty scratch over the protruding bony skin of her ankle. 

She extends her hand to the exhausted girl. 

“I’ll help you up.”

The next day, she sits with Aoife on top of the rocks, facing the waterfalls. Both their legs dangle into the cold waters of the plunge pool, tinging their calves and feet sapphire blue under the sparkling daylight. Training had lasted only a short while today, some upper body and arm exercises. There’s a bandage wrapped around Aoife’s injured leg that’s resting above the water, on the rock. Annie splits a large bun into two and gives her the larger piece. 

“Thank you,” Aoife says quietly, taking a huge bite almost immediately. She must’ve been starving, Annie thinks, thankful for her last minute decision to pack some food into a paper bag before she left the house. 

They eat without speaking, watching dragonflies flit over the beautiful waters of the pool and listening to the songs of all the morning birds conversing happily above the treetops. The spray of the cascades only some twenty feet away occasionally lands on their arms and faces, cooling their sweaty skins. Annie silently observes the little girl’s silvery hair and once-pale face now flushed with colour from the unfamiliar exertion. There have been no new bruises for so many days now.

“Is everything alright at home?” 

There’s silence until the bun is finished and swallowed, and silence after that. Annie thinks no answer is coming when Aoife finally says, in a terribly quiet voice, “Summer and fall are good seasons. Winter and spring are bad.”

Cryptic, but it’s more than anything she’d expected at all. 

“So your father doesn’t hurt you these days?”

Silence.

“How come?”

More silence, and Annie sighs. 

She can’t blame her. She’d been the same, hadn’t she? Taking it all without question, going back to her father every day without question, accepting that this was how it would be, without question, even though other children on the streets hugged and laughed with their parents and were bought some nice things to eat in return. 

And yet… she asks anyway, even though she has no right.

“Aoife. Do you know that what your father does… isn’t right?”

Aoife’s face is stony and blank, void of all emotion in its construct. But her body isn’t emotionless – it’s tense, it’s frightened, and Annie sees it in the tight, white-knuckled clutch of her small fingers on the hem of her skirt. 

Annie looks away. To see any breakthrough here would take a good, long while… and part of her wonders if she really wants to interfere in this too, even though her stomach twists in knots at the prospect of seeing another girl get away from the abuse too late. The way she had, though not out of her own desire, but by the greed of a country. Only, by some twisted design, that greed had sent her to an island full of kind idiots who’d saved her.

“Sorry. I don’t want to upset you.”

Birds skim off the rippling surface of the pool far away, rabbits scurry about in search of food, and the mother eagle leaves her babies behind in the nest for a long glide, high in the skies. Among all this flurry of activity as a glorious new summer day begins, and under a silent promise of no further questions, Aoife eventually relaxes again, enough to kick her submerged leg back and forth in the water, splashing large drops on both herself and Annie. 

“Hey. Watch it,” Annie says lightly, a large, cold splat running down her exposed knees. 

But the young girl watches her carefully before making another kick, this time harder and wilder, and sends shimmering drops straight into Annie's face. 

"Hey!" She cries indignantly but without anger. 

And then Aoife does something Annie's never seen her do before. 

She giggles. 

Under the dazzling sunlight, her face drawn over with the squiggly reflections from the glassy pool, Aoife’s teeth glisten in open mouthed giggles. 

It makes Annie’s heart stop. 

Is this the real Aoife? Underneath all the many heavy layers of blank expressions and few words, is this what she really and truly looks and sounds like? 

And is she the first person to see it?

Like someone’s tied her heart to a balloon string, it soars into the clouds. But before she can think of anything else, another soft spray of water lands over her head. 

“Oh, now you’re asking for trouble,” Annie groans and kicks her own legs, sending a mild shower crashing into Aoife’s lap. The young girl squeals before devolving into a long fit of giggles. 

“Annie!”

“Stop that! It’s cold!”

“Annie! No fair!”

“You started it!”

By the time the sun rises a little higher in the sky and dapples the dark pine forest behind them in spots of bright green, they’re both almost fully drenched on the mossy rocks. Slightly breathless from the laughter, Annie looks down at her damp clothes, thanking every power to exist for having chosen dark colours today – it means her walk home won’t have her displaying all her undergarments. Aoife too, is safe, under her coffee coloured skirt and blouse. 

The faintest whistle from a kettle from beyond the pine forest has Annie reaching to check the time on the pocket watch. Crap, it’s almost seven. 

“Right, time to go home,” She says, swinging her legs to the other side onto the grass. Aoife looks a little disappointed, but follows suit, climbing down the quickly heating rocks. 

Annie looks at her for a minute, still in quite some disbelief over this newly discovered – and possibly entirely hidden thus far – side of the girl. She’s witnessed quite the number of blank stares, a few shy smiles, a bit of talkativeness, and some begging and pleading. And now, a morning of wide toothy smiles and laughter. 

She wonders if she herself would have been this way, at this age, in some other world.

But then… she doesn’t really regret being the way she is, right now. Because it means her father, however distant in their relationship, is still alive. It means she got to come here, where people don’t spit at her. It means she gets to share meals with Jean, and Connie, Pieck and Reiner. It means she gets to write letters to Hitch and Mikasa and hear back from them. It means she gets to roll around in Armin’s bed and kiss him whenever she likes, with lips tasting like hot chocolate. 

Things could have been different, but in the end… this is okay. This is more than okay.

What she can do, is to try and make someone else’s life a little different. A little better, if that’s alright for Annie to do.

Do it all scared, was it?

“Come on,” Annie tells her. “We’ll go home together.”

They earn a few stares on their way home. With slow steps and trudging up the sloping hill, they receive a surprised look from the milkman, and then the postman, and then the lady selling fresh eggs, and of course they would stare – they are two girls in water-splashed clothes. 

Annie picks up her pace with a brief glance at Aoife, and she gets the hint – walk faster. They hurry up the winding curves of the waking village, trying to get back to their homes before more people can stare at their state of drenchedness and talk about it with one another. The last thing Annie wants is unwanted attention for herself, and trouble for Aoife.  She still knows nothing about the girl’s father, or the whereabouts of her mother, and doesn’t want to be the reason for any unnecessary gossip. 

“... well, how can you make new friends if you don’t try?”

Annife stiffens into a pause. That’s Reiner’s voice.

“But I’m scared. Nobody will like me.”

Asa.

“Now what makes you think that? You’re a good kid.”

Armin.

Shit. They're just around the bend of the Hizurean tea-store and she’s smack in the middle of the street, a minute away from being seen. Aoife looks questioningly up at her, bewildered by Annie’s frozen form. 

Well, technically, she’s not doing anything wrong. 

But what would she say? That she’s teaching this young, abused girl defence to save herself from her father’s violent moods? That she hasn’t talked about her fears and worries over it all because… because…

Because what?

Armin’s laughter, so close by, makes her panic. 

It will make him worry. It will hurt him. It will pile more guilt on his already heavy burdens, because he knows her past, and he will know why she’s doing what she’s doing. And then there will come the question of why she didn’t confide in him; it will hang in the air between them even if he never asks out loud. 

“Annie?” 

She slips into a casual gait and an air of lightness as Reiner appears first, Asa and Armin hand in hand, behind him. They’re dressed well, and presumably, on their way to the Chancellor’s office. All three look more than surprised to see her. 

And Aoife, close at her side. 

Two girls, two boys, and an old friend, stare at each other in silence. The street is deserted where they stand. 

“Are you coming back from your walk?” Armin is the first to speak, with a wide-eyed and somewhat astounded smile as his bright blue eyes dart between Annie and the young girl multiple times, taking in the state of their clothes. “You have a friend with you.”

“Oh my god,” Reiner claps a hand to his mouth, dumbstruck. “It’s Annie and a Little Annie.”

Aoife stiffens beside her and a quick sidelong glance at her blank, empty face tells Annie that she’s gone back into her shell. It’s a look she’s come to understand as protection, as a way to cope with things she’s unfamiliar with. A look she understands all too well. 

Reiner looks wildly between them both. “She looks just like you, Annie, when we were kids! Right, Armin? Wait, I don’t know if you’d know that, but she looks just like–”

“No, I know,” Armin smiles, letting go of Asa’s hand and stepping forward. “When I first saw her, that’s what I thought too.” 

“Right? Right?!”

Armin crouches down on a knee before Annie and Aoife, addressing the latter with a gentle smile. “Hi. Do you remember me? You sold me some candy a while ago.”

“Yes,” Aoife’s voice is emotionless. 

“Is Annie your friend?” He looks up at Annie with a twinkle in his eye. 

Aoife fidgets uncomfortably. “Y…es…?”

“Do you have any candy for me today?” He’s already fishing out his wallet.

“... No. I don’t… have any right now…” Her voice grows stilted and awkward, feet shuffling closer to Annie who’s racking her brains for a convincing explanation she knows she has to offer very soon for their dishevelled appearances. 

“That’s okay, here’s the money,” Armin takes Aoife’s small hand and presses some coins into her palm. “You can just give the candy to Annie later.”

The girl stares at the money in her hands like she’s never seen currency before, the blankness on her face already beginning to crack from all this new attention that’s lasting longer than she’s used to. “O… kay?”

“Good,” He grins. “You two are… soaked?” He reaches to pick off a wet leaf stuck to Annie’s kneecap and flicks off a drop of water dripping from the hem of her shorts. An action that Aoife, Reiner, and Asa notice with very keen interest, making Annie’s face heat up hotter than the sun. 

“I bumped into her at the lake,” Annie lies, sharing a look with Aoife. “And we were… watching the… ducks.”

Armin cocks his head, still looking at them both with a wondrous smile that makes her heart flutter. “And we… splashed into some water.” This part isn’t a lie. Technically. 

Movement behind him has Annie ripping her eyes away from Armin’s face. Reiner nudges Asa forward with a gentle push of his hand. “Here’s your chance. Go make your first friend from the village.” 

The young boy, a whole head shorter than Aoife, shyly steps forward until he’s hip to shoulder with Armin, who shoots him an encouraging smile.

“Hi,” Asa says to Aoife, who’s as stiff as a board. He peers at her face. “You have really… pretty eyes.”

Reiner suppresses a laugh, Armin looks very amused, and Aoife's facade  breaks, thrown off guard. She looks up at Annie with frantic eyes searching for some assistance, and faintly, Annie realises that it's probably her first ever compliment. 

But she feels dizzy herself, standing here, feeling the still pleasant sunshine warm the back of her neck and the soothing blow of a breeze that sends leaves from the street side trees fluttering all around them. 

Her own first compliment was so many years ago.

Annie… you’re actually a pretty nice person, aren’t you?

"Not bad," Armin's voice breaks her out of the still vivid memory. He's addressing Asa, who looks uncertainly at him. "But tell her your name first."

"Um… my name is Asa."

Annie finally meets Aoife's scared eyes. Go on, she nods at her. 

"A… Aoife." 

"That's a really pretty name."

Reiner suppresses another laugh and this time Armin grins when Aoife looks thoroughly flustered. "See? I think you have a knack for the right words." 

"Do I?" Asa beams. 

Armin chuckles as he rises to his feet. "Maybe a bit too much."

Annie can't help but snort to herself. So says the man who says a criminally large number of the right things himself when they're alone. 

"Sorry Armin, but we're running late," Reiner smiles apologetically. 

"Right," Armin looks again at both girls. There's something in his eyes she doesn't understand, but it makes her heart shiver with unknown feelings and emotions. "See you later, Annie," He tells her as the three boys finally make their way downhill. The scent of his aftershave washes past her when he crosses by. 

"Bye Aoife!" Asa calls over his shoulder. 

The two girls are left standing there, watching them go. But just before her last glimpse of his sunlit golden head, Armin turns back for a brief moment, his bright blue eyes on Annie first, and then on Aoife.  

She wonders if his heart's beating as fast as hers. 

“Alright, we’ll call it a day.”

Helga gives a start from her stack of documents, “But, Commander, we’ve still got the Nauland manifesto to prepare, then the revision of the trade agreement with–”

“Go home, Helga,” Armin chuckles, arranging his papers before rising from his seat. “Don’t you have two young children at home? They probably miss you.”

The Chancellor’s secretary, merely a young woman in her mid-thirties, smiles bashfully. “Yes, that is true… I haven’t been able to see them much lately, but there is all this work to do after all…”

“And the work will still be here when we come back,” Armin shoves the papers to a corner of the table and clears up the centre of the polished wooden surface. “The world remains to be fixed, but after all that happened… I think we can afford to slow down a bit.” He smiles at her. “Enjoy life with our loved ones?”

Helga watches him for a long moment. “Do we deserve that? Speaking as a representative of Kald… we really did nothing for Paradis, you know. Nothing to call out the hatred. Shouldn’t we be using every second right now, to change the future at least?”

He considers that, but doesn’t sit back down. Heroes of Paradis, or Alliance members, it didn’t matter what names they got; they would always be washed in the blood of many innocents and guilty of even more. But still, life was worth something in the end. 

Would it not be an insult to be alive, and not live?

“I don’t think I have any right to say this,” Armin begins.

“You do,” She nods firmly. “You are Commander of your regiment, and your words carry great weight. You have more than the right.”

He decides to just accept that, for the time being. “I’m just talking from a general standpoint. We should, of course, use every bit of time to strive for peace and understanding. We’ll work tirelessly toward that goal, come what may. But not at the cost of living our own lives. If you worked day and night for a better world, and then missed seeing your children grow up, would you still be happy?”

Helga is silent, watching the unmoving words printed over the papers in front of her. A soft inhale later, she says, “No. No I wouldn’t. I thought I would never get to see them grow up,” She looks at him. “That day, when the Rumbling was approaching, Chancellor Heikkinen told us all to go home… so I sat in their room, listening to them babble words,” She casts her eyes down, thumbing the wedding ring on her finger. “My husband and I, we cried, hoping that it would all be over in a second and that maybe, we would get to be together in our next lives.”

Armin says nothing, feeling the weight of a brick in his chest. Next life, huh. If the world had been razed down completely, there would not have been anywhere for that to even happen.

“However,” Helga smiles ruefully. “Here I am. Here we all are. I don’t need a next life, I just need this one.”

“Then that’s enough reason,” He says quietly. “To leave your paperwork here, and go home. You don’t have to be Secretary every day.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Armin makes his way to the door, and pauses by the steps. His arms are empty, there are no documents to be carried home to read through all night long. 

“How old are your children?”

“Two. They’re twin girls.”

Two year old babies. He doesn’t know much about children that age; his only experience with them had been during an afternoon at the market inside Trost district when he was fifteen. A woman had carried two identical babies on a cloth sling over her back and he’d made faces at them much to their delight. 

That same afternoon, Trost was almost blown to pieces. 

He wonders what happened to them. “I’m not sure if this is true… but aren’t twins said to share a special connection with each other?”

Helga smiles with pride. “It’s true. And I’ll be around to watch my girls share it.”

That’s good then. Armin leaves the office to get a haircut.

The barbershop smells too strongly of perfume and hair wax, but he has no other option than to sit and inhale it. There’s strange music of the kind he’s never heard before playing from a warbly radio perched on top of a cabinet, and the place is littered with posters and advertisements and newspapers in more languages than he can count. How many of these languages would now go extinct, because the people who spoke them had died out? The thought makes his stomach sink as he’s ushered into a chair. There’s another occupant on a chair beside him, but he can’t see the person whose face is buried into a newspaper. 

“What would you like, young man?” The barber lady asks him, as she ties a cloth round his neck. She’s wearing so much perfume that his nose stings. 

“Just a trim,” Armin says. “Nothing more.”

“A trim it is,” She picks up a long comb and begins to run her fingers through his hair. “One of the soldiers are you? From Paradis?”

“Yes,” He meets her curious eyes through the mirror in front. 

“I asked because of the undercut,” She explains. “Not many men here with this hairstyle.”

“Ah.”

As she works on combing and trimming, Armin thinks back to the day he lost the long locks his mother used to adore. 

“It’s getting too long,” He says, thumbing a long strand of his hair. “Either I have to tie it up, or get it cut.”

“Cut it,” Eren replies with his eyes closed from where he leans against the cold stone wall of his room. “Short hair is easier to manage.”

“So you say, but look at your own hair,” Armin chuckles. “It’s growing long like a sheepdog.”

Eren simply smiles, eyes still closed. They were spending a lazy evening in his room – it was one of those days where nothing happened due to the slow workings of bureaucracy. Paradis had just been thrown open to the world a while ago, and with many things buried under confusion and panic, the Scouts had, after a week of shooting practice with their new, foreign rifles, been sent to their quarters until further notice. 

Eren’s room is cold, and Armin huddles to himself on one corner of the bed. The seashell in his pocket pokes into his leg – it’s a new addition to the few treasures he’s accumulated over the years – his book of the outside world, his father’s compass, his mother’s handkerchief, and his solid bond with Eren and Mikasa.

Though he’s not so sure about the last one anymore. Armin throws a quiet glance at Eren on the opposite corner. 

They were sixteen now, the two of them. And Mikasa. Sixteen, and his headstrong friend, once full of rage and anger and little concern for anything except the eradication of titans, had fallen into a morose silence. Silence of the kind that Armin found unbearable; because they’d once shared everything with each other – dreams and stories, meals and games, exercise and laughter, battle plans and strategies… and now they shared a suffocating silence. 

“Eren,” He begins hesitantly, because he’d brought this up twice before and Eren hadn’t appreciated it both times. “What’s bothering you?”

There’s no reply. Eren remains still, elbows hinging on his bent knees, eyes closed and as quiet as a sleeping mountain. Except, Armin knows there’s very little that’s calm; inside that head he’s been locked out of is a violent, dangerous storm brewing. He knows, because he’s seen a look of helpless rage flit over his features now and then. 

And when that happens, he doesn’t recognize his childhood friend.

“You can talk to us,” Armin continues. “Or if this is something you don’t want Mikasa to worry about… you can talk to me.”

There’s still no reply, and he feels miserable.

Would they grow apart like this? Maybe the next time they went to see the sea, Eren would’ve drifted so far away from him that there wouldn’t be any familiarity left to share a smile? Not that he had the first time; a lost, far away look in his eyes had been the only reaction… but…

What’s wrong, Eren? Where are you?

Before he can tentatively prod any further, there’s a knock on the door, and Mikasa pokes her head into the room. “Tea time. There’s some fancy snacks. Not much though.”

Armin exhales, feeling lost and alone. He’ll have to wait for another opportunity.

“Come on,” He tells him, standing. 

“Go ahead,” Eren doesn’t budge. “And Mikasa,” He cracks an eye open at the girl who’s been feeling as miserable as Armin lately. “Armin needs a haircut. Will you do it?”

Armin is taken aback. “No need, I’ll just go to the military salon–”

“I can do it,” Mikasa says. “Tonight.”

“I’m really okay.”

“I’ll do it for you,” She repeats, and Armin’s heart sinks at her sad tone of voice. If it gives her some iota of comfort just by having something to do, something to distract herself from Eren’s distance, he can’t refuse her. 

“Alright.” He takes one last look at Eren before leaving the room. It’s dark and cold within the four walls, and stays that way for a long time.

Snip, snip, snip. Hair falls around him like snow and the blades of the scissors press into his neck. Mikasa’s touches are gentle in the deserted, quiet room. He doesn’t remember a time when his hair was short – that time is lost in the memories of his parents perhaps, of the years they watched him walk and run for the first time.

Snip, snip, snip. A drop of salt water. Snip, snip, snip. 

Armin turns his head to the side where all he can see is a single boot of hers, by the side of the chair. The blades retreat, the comb falls away, and her hands rest dully on either side of his shoulders from behind.

“What’s happening to Eren?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Are we losing him?”

That’s her worst nightmare, and he knows it. He reaches for her hand and squeezes, feeling the dampness of her tears over a thumb. 

“No. We won’t. I promise you that.”

The next day when he joins the others for breakfast, he receives compliments for the haircut from the portion of the mess-hall that doesn’t look at him with distaste for being the new holder of the colossal titan. It’s strange, there’s all that new, cool air blowing against the underside of his scalp that now sports short bristly hairs, and he finds his hand drifting to the back of his neck self-consciously every now and then. Jean tells him he looks all grown up, Sasha whistles in appreciation, and Mikasa smiles to herself – a tiny, sorrowful curl of the lips – at the success of her handiwork. But Eren gives him silence. 

“It’s not too strange looking, I hope?” Armin chuckles nervously, taking a seat beside him. 

Eren stares at him for a long time, his face impassive. “No,” He finally says. “This is how you’re supposed to look.”

Armin wouldn’t understand the meaning of those words for a long time. 

 

He’s torn out of his reminiscing when the barber lady chucks a stack of advertisements into his hands. “Take a look at these, young man. If there’s anything you’d like to buy, I’ve got it.”

“Uh…” Armin leafs through the crinkly papers. Ads for imported perfume and hair dye. For shoe polish and shaving cream. For skin lotion and nail colours. “No, I’m good, thanks.” 

“Don’t say that,” The lady complains as she snips off the ends of his bangs, and they fall into his lap. “I’m trying to sell whatever I’ve got left of all these items from Marley. You won’t get them anymore y’know.”

Yes, because Marley’s dust. Armin clears his throat. “I’m still good for now. Thanks anyway.”

But she doesn’t give up, jabbing at one particular advertisement in his lap. “Now, see this, this is popular with the ladies.” A drawing of a heavily made up woman stares at him from the yellow sheet of paper. “This lipstick is all the rage now. If you’ve got a girlfriend or any lady friend, you should buy it for her. It’s the last of its kind.”

A small smile creeps its way across his mouth as he thinks of Annie’s lips, coloured red. Lipstick on Annie wasn’t something he’d spent all that much time thinking about before. It never mattered to him, really, what she wore or didn’t. Though he certainly isn’t going to complain if she chooses to look extra pretty, like that night of the festival when her hair had been up in a ponytail. He’d burned that image behind his eyelids well enough, and spent enough time doing so. The little lipstick in her pocket had been a pleasant surprise and now he’s curious about when he’ll see her use it, if ever. 

“Thanks,” He laughs. “But my girlfriend’s already got one.”

The lady makes a noise of evident displeasure and gives up, going back to trimming. Armin feels the prick of falling hair between his collars at the back of his neck and sits still, thinking of everything and nothing in particular. Staring idly at his reflection in the mirror, listening to the music and the snip of the scissor blades, he feels his mind drift from topics to conversations, and from moments to memories, both from the past and present. 

“Well, that’s bullshit!” The other occupant in the shop slams the newspaper closed, making both Armin and the barber lady jump. “The more of this awful news I read, the more I lose faith in this world!”

“Igor, I’ve told you to stop doing that!” The lady scolds, and Armin notes with horror how close the scissors are to slicing his ear off. He shifts away, just a little bit. 

“I’m telling you Mina, this is just awful!” Igor cries with palpable indignation. “Two children murdered in Alvar! Simply terrible!”

“Igor that newspaper is a week old, put it down!” The lady, whose name Armin presumes to be Mina, yanks the heavily thumbed sheaf of papers out of his gnarly hands and throws it in a dustbin. “And stop spending all your time in here, you’re bald!”

Armin sits quietly through this exchange, watching his newly revealed neighbour through the mirror. A grumpy looking man with a bald head and bushy eyebrows, crooked nose and almost fully toothless, glowers at the array of combs, scissors and blades on the shelf of the mirror in front. He mutters under his breath before swinging sharply to look at Armin, who once again jumps.

“I say, it's good you lads came here!” He shakes a finger at him. “You soldiers from Paradis better change something about this dratted country!”

… Dratted country?  

Armin frowns with confusion and curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

“Shush now, Igor!” Mina brandishes her scissors in the air. “You’ve got to stop saying that. Nothing bad happens in Kald.”

“Nothing bad happens in Kald, my foot!” Igor shakes his head, deep set eyes so cloudy with age that Armin can’t see the colour of his irises. “A lie if I’ve ever known one!” He gets out of his chair with a heavy grunt. His back is severely hunched and he hobbles to the door angrily. “Remember this, young man, things are very, very wrong here!” And he disappears around the corner of the street.

Armin slowly settles back down in his seat, feeling uncomfortable and bothered. He meets Mina’s gaze in the mirror. 

“What did he mean by that?”

“Oh, ignore him,” She scowls, her comb and scissors back to work in his hair. “Igor is a lonely old man who’s not right in the head. He says things like that often, pay no mind.” She takes Armin’s temples and forces his chin up to work on the crown of his head. “Although I do feel sorry for him from time to time; all his children left him for jobs in Marley and never came to visit. He spends most of his time here, reading old newspapers over and over again. I let him do it out of sympathy because he has no one else,” She sighs heavily, clicking her tongue. “Poor man, but he can be very annoying sometimes.”

Armin doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t and remains silent until the end of the haircut. Finally, he pays Mina, once again refuses the things she tries to sell to him, and leaves the shop feeling thirsty and wondering what to do with the puzzling sensation the strange exchange in the barbershop has left him feeling. 

In search of a cup of coffee, Armin finds himself at a small cafe, waiting for his order. He could very well have just gone home but the thirst in his dry throat stopped his feet from moving past the cafe from the inside of which came so many delicious aromas. In a corner table, he peruses the latest of the newspapers from abroad – a bi-weekly arrival from the postal ships – skimming over the headlines splashed across most of the pages:

Heroes of Paradis granted asylum at Kald!

Who is the hero who killed the Devil of Paradis, Eren Jaeger? 

Historic meeting of the nations at Kald in the Autumn!

War has been won, but humanity has lost!

The South is Flat! – how the great nation of Marley is no more.

What does the shift in the world order mean for the common man?

Armin’s head swims at the number of things he'll have to handle in a couple of months. The press would arrive and buzz around them like bees, the politicians would land and shower them with questions and accusations, there was Paradis to think about and raise in esteem, there was Kald to think about and promote, there would be all the slander to wade through and difficult negotiations to be made.

Once again, he longs for the presence of his superiors who’ve long left him all alone. 

Sighing, he folds up the newspaper and lays it down on the table when his coffee arrives. A little extra sugar he’d asked for, and milk. It’s true that sometimes, a little sweetness is good to drive away the feelings of despondency and loneliness – he wonders if that’s any part of the reason why Annie loves sugar and sweets so much. Armin takes a sip of the steaming, frothy drink and relaxes in the soft chatter and ambience of the quaint cafe. Smiling into his drink, he studies a young couple engrossed in conversation at one table. At another, a husband and wife try to control their excited children running around the tables. At yet another, an elderly couple enjoy their coffees in a comfortable silence. He wonders if one day, he and Annie will be them. 

That wasn’t what occupied his daydreams for the past two days though. 

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Annie and the little girl, Aoife. 

Granted, he’d noticed the resemblance all that time ago when he’d first seen her, but next to each other, he saw a mini Annie. Given the opportunity and the means, he would have taken a picture immediately and pressed it between the empty slots in his wallet waiting for occupants. 

A future like that is a distant dream. Three years, maybe, but still a question he can ask Annie only when he’s reached a stage when he’s in a better place himself, and has secured a better place for everyone else. 

A question he can ask Annie only when, hopefully, he’ll know she’ll say yes. 

“Hey, Commander.”

He’s quickly growing familiar with this confident voice that always seems to intrude into his most peaceful moments. Armin doesn’t twist around to greet the owner somewhere behind, and he doesn't have to; Kári takes big strides over to his table. 

“Can I sit with you?” He grins, but doesn’t wait for an answer – he draws the chair out noisily and takes a seat, looking awfully amused with himself.

Armin regards him calmly while feeling uneasy inside. Kári drums his fingers on the table, yelling over his shoulder for a cup of black, unsweetened coffee when the waiter passes by. Turning around with a relaxed smile, he says, “So, I haven’t seen you around in the past few days.”

“I’ve been fairly busy,” Armin replies, somewhat wary of his demeanour that seems quite off from all the previous times they’ve met. He crosses his legs under the table and leans back in his chair to add, “Haven’t been around outside much.”

“Ah, yes yes, Commander duties,” Kári nods, almost too sympathetically. “You’re a very busy man.”

Armin says nothing, taking a sip of his coffee. His new companion makes a great fuss out of profusely thanking the waiter when his order arrives, then blowing off the steam, then drinking it in exaggerated mouthfuls of oooh it's so good! and great, big sighs of satisfaction. With every minute that passes, Armin feels tension rising within himself, a tiny inkling of what this is all about starting to grow clearer in his mind. Kári smiles at him every now and then, and it only makes him more uncomfortable, though he remains calm on the outside

“So I know Annie’s seeing someone.” 

Irritation prickling across the surface of his skin, Armin takes another sip. 

“You.” Kári tilts his head, awaiting the look of surprise on Armin’s face that doesn’t come. But it doesn’t appear to faze him. 

“But you didn’t tell me that,” He continues, a slow grin forming over his face as he holds up two fingers. “You avoided the subject. Twice." 

Armin looks at him over the rim of his cup where calm blue eyes meet amused green eyes. He keeps his cool, though it takes an immense amount of effort to do so. Feeling caught, trapped, his prior hesitation out in the open, he’s left wondering how Kári plans to use this weakness against him.

Though he has a small idea already, and a very big bad feeling about it.

Kári hums in mock thought. “Now, I’ve thought long and hard about this,” He leans back in his chair and folds his arms, his eyes still firm on Armin’s. “What reason would a man have to deny that he’s with a girl, especially when he’s under a threat?”

“I wasn’t under any threat.” 

“Oh?” Kári raises his eyebrows. “Then why didn’t you say it? I had to learn it from the cocoa-lady and my grandpa, who didn’t tell me outright, but,” He shrugs. “I took a guess.”

Armin frowns in puzzlement. How did the stamp-maker know of Annie and him? Had she perhaps told him something?

“But that’s not my point,” Kári looks smug. “I arrived at three conclusions. One,” He holds up three fingers. “He’s ashamed of her.”

Armin’s blood curdles and he fights to keep his voice level. “That’s not true.”

One finger comes down. “Two, she’s ashamed of him.”

“That’s… not true.”

Kári looks triumphant. Armin feels cornered despite his face looking impassive even as a second finger goes down, leaving just one up. 

“Three, he’s ashamed of himself.” 

There’s no more coffee to drink and no more refuge that the cup can provide him from having to look at this smirking face. The dirty brown dregs stare at him from the bottom of the china as if taunting him, mocking him:

Look what you’ve brought on yourself. 

Look what you’ve become.

You’ve always been like this.

Hesitant. 

Insecure. 

Ashamed. 

Unconfident. 

Kári takes a long, deep sigh. “You’re a nice guy, Commander,” He leans forward, looking, maybe for a second, genuinely worried. “But you’re not competitive. Too indecisive.”

There’s silence blanketing the space around their table. Separated and isolated from the warmth and comfort of the rest of the cafe, Armin feels like he’s been pushed out naked into the open, under a predator that likes to play with its prey. 

He’s felt like this, once before. At a different table, under the hard glare of unfamiliar green eyes. But back then, he’d known the accusations thrown at him were lies.

This time, they are true.

Still, he meets Kári’s smirking eyes.

“So I’ll decide for you.”

His gut twists, the hair on his neck stands on end.

Kári grins. “You and me. A race through the pine forest, next week. Whoever wins, deserves Miss Leonhardt more.”

Now, he hadn’t seen that coming. Incredulous laughter bursts out of Armin. “That’s ridiculous. Why would I do that?”

Kári however, continues grinning, appearing unaffected. “Oh come on, Commander. It’s a harmless boy’s race. Besides, being together with Miss Leonhardt already, you’ve got the advantage.”

Armin holds his gaze, suppressing his insecurity and rising anger with the hint of an amused smile playing on his lips, though not feeling any bit amused at all.

“Unless… you don’t?” Kári goads. 

... Yeah. 

When did all of this start? These ugly feelings of self-hatred? Of never being enough? Of being…

… Hesitant. 

… Insecure. 

… Ashamed. 

… Unconfident. 

You’ve always been like this. 

Running away everytime you hated yourself. Someone makes you feel better, someone consoles you, someone pats your back, and you make do with that until it happens again.

You’ve always been like this. 

Will you always be like this?

Make it stop. Make it stop. Stop it. Please, stop it!

Armin takes a deep breath and exhales, his gaze unwavering. 

At some point, it should happen:

The beginning of the end. 

“Sure. Why not?”

When Armin finally goes home, dusk has fallen, and he feels lightheaded. The paper bag in his hands crinkles under the weight of the contents within, and he holds it with both arms so it doesn’t tear at the bottom. The streets are dark, the lamps have just flickered on, and he feels as if he might as well be a ghost, haunting this peaceful Village for scraps of common sense. 

He doesn’t feel like himself at all.

Then again, was he ever happy with who he was? Or did that satisfaction he sometimes felt come from the weight of comforting words and lofty praise others poured over him from time to time, lost to the void the next day? Was ‘feeling like himself’ just a condemnation to feel like a loser, a pathetic whining being?

Armin doesn’t know the answer to any of this as he walks uphill, nearing their house with every slow, sluggish step on the stone paving.

He shifts the weight of the paper bag more into his left arm as he rummages for the pocket watch with his right. It’s seven in the evening. The others would be busy eating dinner. Annie would be worried again, probably thinking he’s back to his days of spending late nights in the Chancellor’s office. He had had nothing but good intentions when he left work earlier in the day and then he’d spent two hours sitting in the Cafe after Kári left, rather shocked and appalled at himself. He’d drunk copious amounts of coffee to keep himself sane. The barista had thanked him for good business. And then he’d left and popped into the supermarket, feeling like a ghost possessing a body for the first time. 

Armin rounds the corner of their garden and pushes the front door open. Sure enough, the tell-tale chatter and laughter of the others ripples through the air as he takes off his shoes in the foyer. The kitchen is bright and lively with Connie’s jokes when he finally appears at the doorway. Pieck spots him first.

“Armin! You’re late!” Everyone turns to face him. “Dinner’s getting cold, hurry.”

But he stands there, looking at everyone in turn as though he’s never seen them before.

“What’s with you?” Reiner asks, drawing the empty chair beside him out for him to sit. “Tired?”

It’s an out of body experience when he places the paper bag in the centre of the table. The voice isn’t his either.

“I bought beer.”

Curious eyes blink at him, then at the paper bag, then back at him. Annie’s staring too, scrutinising him carefully, he can tell, but he avoids her gaze. For now. 

“You’ve never bought drinks before,” Jean reaches into the bag and pulls out the cold beer cans. “But I guess we’re in for a small treat tonight.”

“Sit down,” Reiner pats the empty chair and he finally takes a seat. “Are we celebrating something? Why the drinks?”

Why indeed? “For some… liquid courage?” Armin says, and it sounds more like a question. Annie’s burning holes into his head and he still avoids her gaze. 

The table goes silent and all eyes are now on him. Connie continues to shovel spoon after spoon of rice into his mouth, though very quietly. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Jean looks slightly worried. 

“I’m running a race next week,” Armin blurts. “Against Kári.”

Connie’s spoon clinks against his plate when he stops eating. Pieck darts her eyes around the table as if to ask whether running sudden races was something he did often. 

“What the hell?” Jean laughs nervously. “That isn’t like you to do. And who’s Kári?”

“Oh I’ve met him,” Reiner says. “A few days ago? By the bench?” He looks toward Armin, who nods in confirmation. “He’s this… slightly arrogant looking guy.”

“Why are you running a race with him?” Connie takes a long drink of water.

Armin stares blankly at his plate, piled high with warm food. “Whoever wins gets to be with Annie.”

Connie spits everything out.

All jaws drop on flabbergasted faces. Armin feels his forehead beginning to burn from Annie’s ferocious gaze in the short silence that follows… before chaos ensues.

“Excuse me?!”

“What the hell?!”

"That's not like you at all!"

“Why the fuck would you do that?"

The cacophony drives some feeling of bodily ownership back into him. “Calm down,” He holds a hand up. “Do you see anybody packing Annie into a suitcase and giving her away?” Dropping his gaze to his glass of water, sitting clear and transparent, he blushes when he mumbles, “That’s not happening.”

Someone lets out a low whistle but is stomped on the foot under the table by someone else. 

“Then why are you doing it?” Pieck’s frown is curious.

Feeling more like himself once again, Armin says, quietly:

“For myself. I want to… change.”

The table is still silent, sharing worried looks and nudges, when, after much internal debate, he finally meets Annie’s eyes across plates of half eaten dinner and glasses of water. She looks furious, puzzled, and awfully concerned all at once. 

What the fuck? She mouths at him.

Armin rests an elbow on the table, chin on his knuckles, wondering the same thing himself.

What the fuck, indeed. 

Chapter Text

Ridiculous.

It’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever seen.

This was supposed to be a race between two people, a competition – the word irks her – to be witnessed amidst the privacy of a few friends. So how did it turn out like this? 

Half the village has assembled to watch, highly excited. Half the village has assembled for–

“I heard it’s a fight to the death!”

“Now, I heard it’s a wrestling match.”

“Nonsense, it’s martial arts.”

“A swordfight!”

–for this. Annie glares daggers at the bright red ribbon that’s been tied from lamppost to tree branch across the width of the street. Fluttering in a satiny sheen under the bright, morning light, it’s a fancy finish line some tradesman had excitedly fished out from some barrel or trunk, to much raucous cheering. Shopkeepers and buyers, labour men and housewives, cafe owners and dressmakers, and children of young and old mill about, chattering away, taking sides, flipping coins and placing bets. 

Fucking ridiculous. 

She pushes through the crowd, weaving between laughing bodies with irritation sitting high on her tense shoulders. 

“I’m betting on the Commander,” A shrill voice says from within a gaggle of young women as she passes them. 

“I’m betting on our Kári! You know how fast he is.”

“The Commander is a Hero of Peace, he fought titans.”

“I couldn’t care less who wins, I fancy both of them.”

“Oh Ida, you loose girl!”

“What? Do you not see those two? Such gorgeous men!”

“And the Commander–”

Now would be the perfect time to transform, she thinks irritatedly. She’d feel sorry for losing some of the village, sure, but for fuck’s sake now, there’s not exactly a dearth to be had from the loss of a few silly girls.

“Annie!” Pieck raises her hand in the air as she approaches her group of friends, standing close to Armin at the front-line of the growing crowd of people. Jean, Reiner and Connie have got their arms folded across their chests, glaring fiercely at the direct opposite end of the street, where Kári stands among his own group of friends. If not for the distance between them, they would all have gotten into a brawl a long time ago, Annie’s sure. Not that she’d have any complaint about it – she would have all too gladly aided, abetted and committed murder. 

Laughter and bright enthusiasm in the air aside, the tension is palpable here, thick enough to be cut with a knife, between their two circles. Their hostile looks are met with confident smirks from Kári’s side. His friends – all their moronic faces just a blur to Annie – crack inaudible jokes every now and then before cracking up. 

“God, I wish I was running this race,” Reiner mutters angrily. “If it was me, I’d just–”

“Get blown to pieces,” Jean says dryly. “You have one match, and that’s me, Reiner, until the day you die.”

“Very funny–”

“Can you two shut up,” Pieck hisses through grit teeth that smile sweetly at one of Kári’s friends who winks at her. “I still don’t know how it came to this but I very much want us to win, and you two at each other’s throats right now isn’t helping our image of a united front.”

Connie scoffs. “As if Armin would lose.”

All eyes turn to the man in question, who’s bent over with his hands on his knees, lost in thought as his far-away gaze follows an ant scurrying over the cobblestone with a crumb of something. He'd long since tuned out the conversations around him, and much to everyone’s mild surprise, been very calm. Much too calm. 

She nudges him to get his attention, her nerves twisting with some worry. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Armin straightens, a soft smile playing at his lips. "Yeah."

All week he'd been rather quiet, caught up in the many thoughts in his head that she hadn't been able to decode. Between his work and his rests at home, his silences had been filled with contemplation and introspection, and she'd asked him more than once, what he was thinking of. Sorting out things, he’d said, and then hugged her too tightly with a gentle, sweet smile. 

Needless to say, it worried her far more than she’d like to admit. Armin wasn't the type of person to take impulsive decisions like this – she was the reckless one, not him.

And then, there was the issue of Kári dragging her name into this, probably, she’d concluded, to bait Armin into agreeing, even if he’d said otherwise. Annie shoots a nasty look at Kári's side where he notices her, and smiles wide in return – it disgusts her, she would have bashed his head into the sidewalk a week ago if she hadn't had any respect for Armin's decisions – and she seethes silently. 

"Annie, relax," Armin's voice draws her focus back to his face. His eyes are calm, far too calm, and she doesn't like it one bit. 

"What do you have in mind?" She asks him in an urgent whisper. "You've got something up your sleeve haven't you?" 

Again, that gentle, sweet smile, as his eyes carefully sweep over her face. "Are you that worried? It's just a silly race."

"Silly race," Annie scoffs, repeating herself for the millionth time since he'd dropped the bomb on them during dinner a week ago. "I said you didn't have to do this silly race for me, and did you listen?" 

"And I'm telling you I'm not doing it for you," Armin replies, also for the millionth time. "I'm doing it for me."

And this conversation always ended here, because when he put it that way, what more could she say? She'd seen the sadness in his eyes when he told her of the void in his heart that made everything so difficult, and it had hurt her so much too. 

But, she thinks, as she glances again at Kári and his friends, shaking with another round of grating laughter, I just don't want Armin to get hurt. 

An explosive shout by one of the morons has everyone nearby turning to look at them. 

"Whoever wins gets Miss Leonhardt, isn't that right lads?!" 

"It's not like that!" Reiner, Jean and Connie snap back in unison, bristling with anger. 

"I'm going to wring that bastard's neck," Annie growls.

"Relax," Armin replies quietly. "Just relax." 

"No offence, Miss Leonhardt!" Kári calls with an easygoing grin. "And none to the Commander either! This is all just fun and games." 

"Fun and games," Pieck repeats to herself. "He means war, and I hope you know that, Armin. It's great you're keeping your cool and all that, but this guy is looking to corner you." 

Armin squints down into the distant winding curves of the village below them, seeming quite unaffected. Annie can't read his face, nor his eyes.  

"I am aware."

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" A voice booms from the front and it belongs to one of the other morons in Kári’s bunch. "Thank you for assembling! We will now begin the race between Kári Ólafsson and Commander Armin Arlert!" He bows with a flourish and the crowd cheers with claps and whistles. 

"Ugh," Jean snorts in disgust. "I'd like to beat him up."

"Save it for after," Pieck nods. "I'll help you."

The moron continues, "The race will begin here and continue along market road. Then at the meadows, the course will split off into two, where Commander Arlert will take the North and Kári the South," He stops for a breath. "Remember that the south is a longer route and has been given to Kári to cancel the advantage of running on home terrain."

The smirk on his face is so annoying, Annie swears she draws blood within her clenched fists. In front of her, Armin stands, his posture ramrod straight from military habit. 

"Then they will go along these long-routes to the pine forests on the other side of the lake. From there, both will take the bridge back to the village. Whoever crosses the finish line here first," He flicks his finger on the fluttering red ribbon. "Wins the race."

"I don't get it," Connie pipes up, carefully eyeing Kári who emerges from the refuge of his friends to stand in line. He throws a smile at Armin, who simply nods in response. "How does he think he can win? This match isn't even fair, the guy is a civilian." 

"Ladies and gentlemen, once again, please welcome, Commander Armin Arlert of Paradis, Hero of Peace!" 

The crowd cheers loudly – with the shrill screams of young women drowning out much else – all only to mount the uneasiness in Annie’s gut. How dare they make it such a ridiculous spectacle?  

"And please welcome, Kári Ólafsson of Kald, five time winner of the Kald Olympic Sprints!"

"Oh," Is Connie's only response. 

"That means nothing!" Reiner clicks his tongue. "You can't compare military training and an Olympic sprint, they're worlds apart."

"Right? So what are we worried about?"

Except, they all know what they're worried about that they can't say out loud. 

"Armin," Annie sidles up to him again, worried. "Listen, you–"

He turns around to face her, searching her eyes. "Annie, do you have faith in me?" 

She blinks at him, taken aback. “Huh?”

“Do you have faith in me?” He repeats, looking seriously at her. She’s aware of Kári’s eyes on them both, but the more she focuses on Armin’s, picking apart the eyelashes framing his eyes and the feathered ridges of his blue irises, the less it matters how she feels her cheeks heat up despite the rising anxiety in her body. 

Public eye be damned, she doesn’t care right now. Annie places a hand over his heart. It beats fast, but steady and rhythmically. 

“Of course I have faith in you,” She says. “But this isn’t about that–”

He nods with a smile, a particularly reassuring smile that says he’ll be okay. “That’s enough for me.”

Annie purses her lips with a frown. Kári’s going to play dirty, he’s going to hurt Armin, this is a race over a distance that requires endurance and why the fuck isn’t she the one running this stupid thing, she’d fuck that bastard over for sure–

“Don’t pull away, okay?”

“What?” Annie barely has any time to process his words when he takes a hold of her hand over his heart, brings her fingers to his lips, and kisses her knuckles with a lingering heat. 

She’s so dumbfounded, she couldn’t have pulled her hand away even if she’d known in advance. This side of Armin is one she’s still not used to, this side where he’s brazenly smooth and bold, with zero regard for who’s watching and when.

Then again, he’d once ordered her to kill him in full-view of more than a dozen Scouts lining the rafters of Stohess. That threat had been an attempt to prove something right that she’d only realized many years later. 

“Keep calm for me,” He murmurs with his eyes on her in a way that makes her breath hitch in her lungs. 

The moment is broken, and the curtain of invisibility is lifted when Pieck cackles behind them.

Her face floods with heat when Armin lets go of her hand with a furtive glance and sly smile directed at Pieck, and then turns away. Thoroughly flustered and confused and thrown off guard, Annie fixes Pieck with a questioning gaze, but all she gets in response is a secretive shrug. 

“If the participants will come forward to the starting line, please!”

The street could be exploding from the inside out with feverish animation if it hadn’t been made of earth and stone and wood. Armin gives Annie and the others a small nod before stepping away to another very silly ribbon lying limp on the ground. 

Pieck chooses this moment to cup her hands over her mouth and yell, “Kári! Yoohoo!”

Kári glances back from where he’s toeing the starting line himself, and humours her with a raised eyebrow. She wiggles her fingers at him. “Come here for a second!”

“Yeah? Miss Finger, was it?” He grins when he comes to a stop in front of them. Annie has to dig her nails into her biceps to prevent throwing an uppercut into his jaw. By the tense shifting of the others behind her, she has no doubt the guys feel the same. Pieck is the only one smiling up at him with a coy expression.

“So five time Olympic winner huh?” She bats her eyelashes. “That’s impressive.”

Kári shrugs lightly and digs his hands into his pockets, a pleased smirk spreading over his face. “Well, I am quite fast.”

Jean says something rude under his breath, but shuts up when she digs her heel into his toes.

“That’s amazing,” Annie swears she can see sparkles in Pieck’s eyes. “I wish I could see you run all the way.”

“You can, whenever you want,” He replies, looking at Annie whose eyes are so cold, a blizzard could have blown through them and it would have paled in comparison. “Don’t look at me like that, Miss Leonhardt. It’s just a friendly match.”

Bastard. She’d really like to wipe that smug smile off his face. But Pieck saves her the trouble. 

“That’s so nice of you, Kári,” She sings. “But since you’re being so careful about this race being fair and all that by taking the longer route yourself. Let me return the favour by warning you, you might be fast. But Armin is a trained soldier.”

He says nothing to that, his eyes still on Annie. 

Pieck’s voice drops, but she still maintains a sweet smile. “And if you’re pitting your speed against nine years of expertise in being a soldier bred to kill titans, you might find yourself in for a bit of shock.”

His smile falters, for just a second, but he recovers with a shrug. “Then I’ll find out soon, won’t I?”

“Yeah,” She grins. “You will.”

With one last lingering glance at Annie, Kári returns to his spot by the starting line. The air bristles with anticipation as the two boys bend into a crouch start. Heart thumping in her windpipe, Annie keeps her eyes on the shape of Armin’s contorted back, one ear drowning out the celebratory shouts of the audience, one ear picking up on the conversations of the other four behind her.  

“Playing dirty huh,” Jean whistles in appreciation. “His morale cracked a little."

"You should've told him Armin is smart," Reiner adds.

Pieck tsks. "What kind of idiot are you? You never tell the enemy what your real weapon is or where you're hiding it."

“Good job, Pieck,” Connie grins.

She gives an exaggerated sigh and splays her arms out wide. “Listen, all’s fair in love and war, and this is both. Besides,” She pokes Annie in the back. “I was just helping Armin. He played dirty first.”

Annie looks over her shoulder. “What?”

“Oh come on, were you that stupefied?” She gives her a teasing smile. “The only one who’s bothered about ‘being fair’ here is Kári,” She looks around at everyone’s perplexed faces. “What? Seriously, did none of you notice? That was a kiss of psychological warfare.” 

Oh. Oh fuck, Annie blushes. So that’s what it was all about. Why hadn’t she seen that coming? 

“And maybe for a confidence boost,” Pieck whispers into Annie’s ear, making her blush harder.

“That’s my man,” Reiner whistles softly before yelling into the air, making everyone around him jump. “That’s my man!”

“Woooo! Goooo Armin!” Connie punches his fists into the air. “Bring us glory, Commander!”

Without turning around, Armin merely raises a hand in response.

“On your marks,” The moron lifts his hand. “Get set…. Go!”

Armin and Kári take off down the hill, neck and neck in pace. The onlookers erupt into wild shrieks and applause, while some young children run after them until they disappear out of sight around a bend in the streets. Annie watches the two boys with a wild heartbeat, feeling uneasy and uncertain about the whole thing. If that bastard so much as hurts a single hair on Armin’s head, she’ll see him to hell for it.

“Relax, Annie,” Pieck nudges her in the back again. “I was worried before, but not so much now.”

“We get it,” Jean says, as the crowd begins to quiet down for the wait. “In physical prowess, he’s always been a little on the weak side. I was worried too, but… you know, if it’s a battle of wits, Armin’s taking the trophy.”

“It’s a race,” Annie says, feeling helpless.

“Don’t underestimate him,” Pieck says lightly as she moves toward a corn stand. “I think he’ll be just fine. Are any of you guys hungry?”

She’s got no choice but to wait, like all the other people around her. Waiting and filling the time with eating and drinking and talking. Waiting and watching the general populace milling around, singing aloud to songs playing from radios, and playing little games with each other. Waiting and observing people finishing up their shopping in the meantime. 

Waiting for the return of both boys, or just one. 

“It was supposed to last around forty minutes,” Someone says. “But it’s been well over an hour now.”

“I wonder if something happened?” 

Annie stuffs her mouth with buttered corn, willing herself to drown out the conversations around her. Under normal circumstances, not a single spoken word would’ve caught her attention, but nothing about today is normal after all, so she’s hyper-aware and hyper-sensitive to everything – to the tickled laughter of a  barista selling coffee on the streets, to the frown of a woman carrying a baby some way off. 

After much pacing about in circles, unable to stand still, Jean had made her sit on a stool lying unoccupied in front of a fruits vendor. She’d glared at him but relented; her worry was making her restless and anxious. 

It’s in this state of agitation that she notices a girl standing across the street in front of a supermarket, glaring at her. A girl with long black hair that reaches her buttocks and Hizurean features like Mikasa. Her eyes are hostile and despite the distance, Annie can see how her fingers clutch a bag of groceries far too tightly. She looks familiar.

Huh. Annie narrows her eyes in response, perplexed by the sudden animosity. What’s up with this now? It’s not a look she’s unfamiliar with; Marley had looked at her like this, but in Kald, this is her first. The girl meets her questioning glare without batting an eyelash, and then turns on her heel to march off into the hustle and bustle of the village. It only occurs to Annie after she’s gone that she’d seen the girl at the hot-springs inn. The daughter or something. 

She discards the paper plate into a wastebasket and gets up, making her way to the hatters where Pieck and Connie are clearly creating a ruckus by trying on the most outrageous of hats and strutting about like peacocks. Annie envies their ability to keep calm even though Armin and the bastard are running late. She wishes she could be like them.

But I can’t, she thinks miserably, stuffing her hands into her pockets. She’d fought tooth and nail to get him back alive from the Okapi and the fear she carried in her heart that day would never be forgotten by a single fibre in her body. Granted, this was only a race and titans are no more, but Armin was far too important a person now, for everyone and most of all for her, what if something happened to him on the racecourse, what if–

“Aoife!” A voice booms from somewhere in front.

Someone passes by, brushing her shoulder.

Chills run down her spine and her body grows cold with dread.

“Aoife!”

Annie whirls around, heart racing, but there’s nobody there, only nameless faces bright with conversations and laughter. 

“Aoife!”

“Hello Gunnar! Looking for your daughter?”

She shoves people aside, following the voice as best as she can, concentrating on isolating it from the other noises thick in the air. Aoife’s father? Is his name Gunnar? She’d like to catch a glimpse of him, see what he looks like, size him up, see if she can figure out from his good-for-nothing face why he abuses his ten year old daughter during the winter and spring and not summer and fall, and why he abuses her at all. 

“I asked her to stay home all day today, but she’s not there, have you…”

“No, I haven’t seen Little Aoife around today.”

“Let me know if you see her.”

Nerves prickling with adrenaline, she quickens her pace, committing every drawl, cut, and drag of the voice into her memory. It’s close, she’s closer, she searches for the face that owns the voice, waits for the chills to run down her spine again, because her intuition has always been right, always, without fail. 

She emerges into a clearing before the newspaper stands and finds… nothing.

Nothing.

The voice is gone and so is Aoife’s father.

Sighing with frustration, Annie returns to the hatters where Pieck and Connie are still at it, trying on wide brimmed hats with feathers and flowers and birds in them. 

And then, it happens. 

“They’re back!”

The village stiffens into sharp attention, all eyes drifting to the source of the young, high-pitched voice. 

“They’re coming, they’re coming!” A small girl comes running up the hill, pointing her fingers behind her. 

Pieck and Connie toss their hats into the hands of the irritated hatter and hurry over to where Annie stands, frozen in place. Jean and Reiner join them as everyone in the crowd drops their activities and halts their conversations, jostling with each other to spot a glimpse of whoever appears first. Annie squeezes the hanko nestled in her pocket tightly, feeling somewhat relieved that he’s back at all and not lying unconscious somewhere in the wilderness, and yet, there’s a bit of guilt in her chest at the fact that she’s so fearful for the outcome of the race. 

“Who’s leading?!”

“Who’s first?!”

“They’re here!”

“Heavens!”

The crowd falls into baffled silence as two figures appear from around the bend they’d disappeared behind earlier. The red satin ribbon shimmers in the sunshine.

“What’s this?!”

A head of blond hair and a head of jet black, once again neck and neck in pace.

“I can’t believe it!”

Armin and Kári, walking. 

Hushed whispers and murmurs ripple across the sea of onlookers. Soft cries of disbelief, quiet words of admiration. Questions of puzzlement, and stares of bewilderment. But nobody says a thing as the two boys approach closer, walking up the hill slowly, leisurely, calmly.

“Annie,” Pieck whispers. “Armin, he’s…”

She doesn’t need to say it out loud. 

There’s happiness on Armin’s face, even if it’s slight. Kári, on the other hand, looks subdued and very, very quiet even when Armin tells him something with a smile.

“He said something to him, I’m sure of it.” Jean says.

“What’s going on?!” Someone cries, breaking the silence.

“Sorry,” Armin smiles humbly, as the people part to let them walk through to the finish line. Kári says nothing at all, his face blank, his eyes cast down. “Neither of us won. Sorry to disappoint.”

So he says, but Annie can’t tear her eyes off his shoes. Goosebumps prick along her skin, this time, in the best of ways. 

“Neither of you… won?” Someone asks, confused.

“Sorry,” Armin smiles again.

She can’t tear her eyes off his shoes, because they’re both walking, footsteps in sync with each other. 

But he’s the first to cross the finish line, by a single step. 

He did win. And he knows it. 

The soft sounds of stones skipping water fills his ears along with bird calls and faint voices from the village behind him that’s still buzzing with excitement over the race a few hours ago. Armin frowns, gathering the thoughts in his head that flow relaxedly and peacefully under the serenity of the meadows. The grass prickles at his cross-legged ankles and the overcast sky watches over him when he finally begins to write on the paper spread on his left thigh. 

Dear Mikasa,

Kald is so beautiful, I’m growing fond of it much too fast. I wish you were here to enjoy it with me. The others have found their spaces here, more or less, and the days when sorrow isn’t the first thing on our minds, are filled with quarrelling and arguments over silly things. It’s becoming a warm house of six with Pieck too, who I’m sure felt out of place at first.  

“I did it, I skipped it three times!” Asa’s elated voice interrupts his flow, and Armin looks up from the letter with a smile.

“Great job!” 

“Hey, hey, why aren’t you skipping rocks with me?” He abandons all his stones and hops over to Armin’s side with curiosity brimming in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m writing a letter to a friend back home in Paradis.”

“A friend?”

“Well, she’s more like a sister, really.”

Asa stands close, soon resting his chin on Armin’s shoulder to peer at the handwriting that begins to fill the sheet of paper. Armin smiles, feeling the young boy’s light breaths fanning over the skin of his neck. 

Summer is ending in a few weeks. When Fall arrives, things will be hectic. Invites have been sent out and most of the remaining nations have responded positively. It will be a Peace Summit, the first of its kind in history, and highly publicised. There will be so much to sort through and deal with, but it has to be done. 

“What are you writing?”

“Hm?” Armin quirks an eyebrow at the paper, still writing. “You can go ahead and read.”

I think about Eren very often in the mornings, and then I’m consumed with work. I feel guilty sometimes, that I’m not thinking of him enough – but I wonder if I’ll ever be able to grieve to the point where it feels satisfactory. Perhaps it will take so many years for any chance of this. To think of him with a smile instead of with sorrow. We chased his dreams, didn’t we?

I’m sending you a few of the newspapers from the Northern countries. Take care of yourself. 

Always yours,

Armin.

“... I don’t know how to read.”

He stops writing and turns his head, enough to dislodge Asa’s chin from his shoulder. The kid looks shy and embarrassed as he stands before Armin’s baffled gaze, digging the heel of his shoes particularly hard into a patch of grass. 

Armin’s eyes soften. “Were you not taught by your parents in Liberio?”

“Only a little,” His voice is small. “They didn’t have a lot of time for me. They were busy at the factories.”

Armin sighs heavily at that, feeling stricken with guilt and sorrow. Asa is nine, almost ten, and can’t read or write, and he wonders if his caretakers in the cottages know about that. 

“Does Miss Yuna know?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Your caretaker. Have you told her you can’t read?”

Asa averts his eyes, shoulders slumping forward in shame and humiliation. “No.”

“Why not?”

He hesitates. “I– all the others can read. I’m the only one who can’t. I don’t want to… tell anyone that.”

Well, he understands that feeling. Armin drops his eyes on Asa's small sized shoes that are muddy and unlaced, and with a soft exhale, draws the young boy close and takes the shoelaces in his fingers.

“Want me to teach you?” He asks, threading the laces through the eyelets of the shoes. “I’ll help you learn the alphabet. And then you’ll be able to read and write,” He looks into hazel eyes with a smile. “How about it?”

The shame on Asa’s face slowly melts into shy adoration that lights up his eyes with a bright smile. “Will you?”

“Sure,” Armin ties the laces firmly into a tight knot. “And don’t run around with your laces untied. You’ll fall and get hurt.”

Asa looks down at his shoes, studying the clean criss-crossing patterns. 

“Can I… give you a hug?”

A hug, huh. 

Armin smiles, spreading his arms wide open without a word. The silent invitation is enough and a second later, he inhales the scent of Asa’s shampooed blond hair and feels the warmth of a small body beating with life in his arms. Arms circle his neck and a laugh tickles into his scalp. 

“Why are you laughing?” Armin pokes his side. 

“I’m happy,” Comes the muffled answer spoken into his hair. 

Armin hums, studying the cloudy sky that looks like it might bring a summer storm hidden within its darkness. 

“I’m happy too.”

He continues to hug Asa with feelings undeciphered, and emotions unspoken. He hugs him with the same intensity he’d felt ten years ago under the pine tree behind his home. 

He hugs Asa the same way his father had hugged him. 

Annie wakes from a nap, feeling disoriented and tired. The exhaustion has been more apparent over the past week than ever before and she’s wondered on more than one occasion if it’s some late after-effect of losing the titan powers. The sunset outside the window floods the room in hues of burnt orange and she watches her long, dark shadow extending across the floor run its black fingers through its hair. All the cacophony of the race had ended only some hours ago at noon and the village had returned gradually into its state of every-day summer inertia. The man who’d left everyone gaping – the winner, as far as she’s concerned – had disappeared somewhere almost immediately after, leaving Annie and the others to return home with still the question lingering in their minds as to what exactly had transpired between Armin and Kári during that one hour. 

Throat feeling parched and stomach running quite empty, she rises from the bed to get herself a cold chocolate drink downstairs. Her hand curls around the doorknob just as she hears quiet voices from Pieck’s room next door.

“... You’re messing up all the aesthetics, seriously,” Pieck’s voice, sounding disgruntled.

Annie pauses.

“I bought these with my own money to prevent your imminent death, and this is your form of thanks?” Jean’s voice, sounding pissed off. 

“I didn’t ask you to buy them for me,” There’s the sound of movement and then soft hammering. A bed creaking with the weight of someone sitting on it. Pieck, probably. 

“... No, but I did, because I always do a thorough job, and I’m a nice guy.”

“Careful Jean, I might just make you my full-time gardener.”

“Hah,” He snorts. “As if I’d just sit and let you bully me.”

Pieck sounds cheerful. “In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s kind of been happening already.”

Annie leans her back against the door, sunset lights and shadows dancing across her floorboards. From the next room, she hears the tap-tap of screw anchors. The sound of crinkly paper dropping to the floor. The scratch of a pencil tip on the walls. Then, more hammering. 

“I realise I never thanked you,” Pieck interrupts the quietude. “For back then.”

“Back when?” Jean continues hammering. 

“During the battle. You tried to help me.”

"Yeah, and you didn't want my help."

She huffs in exasperation. “I’m saying thank you. Why can’t you just accept it graciously?”

The hammering stops, and Annie picks up a heavy sigh – Jean’s? – before the sound of floorboards creaking under footsteps. And then, complete silence, until:

"The first time we met, I tried to kill you," Jean says.

Pieck is quiet and he continues. "I hit you pretty bad with the thunder spears."

"... yeah. you did." 

“I didn’t know there was a woman… inside that titan.”

That makes Pieck laugh softly. “What? If you’d known, you wouldn’t have fired?”

More creaking floorboards. And then silence again. 

"I'm... glad you–you're alive.” 

Annie’s eyebrows shoot up. She could be mistaken of course, but she can swear that Jean’s voice had never gone this soft for anybody except for one person in the past. Then again, what does she know? So much could’ve happened in the four years she’d missed out on. There’s quiet rustling – bed-sheets? – amid an awkward quietness. 

Finally, Jean forces a cough. "Yeah. I'm done with the… hooks. You can… hang whatever on them, they’ll stand the weight.”

Some shuffling of feet. Metallic clatters of steel on the floor. More paper crinkling. Pieck’s door is pulled open with a squeak. Footsteps – not one pair, but two – pad across the room. 

“By the way,” Pieck says suddenly. “In the bunch of plants you bought for me, there’s a pot with just soil in it. Here,” Some rustling. “This one. What is this?”

“Oh, we got that as a thank you gift,” Jean replies. “The lady said uh… there’s some…dormant balls inside–”

“Bulbs, you idiot,” Annie mutters under her breath. 

“–And that they’ll bloom in the winter.”

“Oh,” Pieck sounds surprised. “So… flowers?”

“I guess?”

“What flowers?”

“No clue.”

“Why didn’t you ask her that?”

“Didn’t think of it.”

Pieck makes a noise of frustration. “I haven’t grown any flowers before. I don’t have any in this room.”

“Well you do now,” Jean’s voice is light. 

“I don’t even know what flower it is!”

“Guess you’ll find out in the winter.”

Heavy footsteps – Jean’s – thud out on the corridor right outside Annie’s room. Lighter footsteps follow.

"Jean."

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're alive too."

There's a long silence, during the entirety of which, Annie holds her breath for some unknown reason.

“Then, about the giraffe–”

“No. I’m not having it in my room.”

“He’s getting hungry, you know. In your jungle-room, he’ll be well-fed.”

“My plants are all poisonous,” Pieck jokes. “They’ll kill him instantly.”

Jean laughs quietly as his footsteps travel past Annie’s room and retreat down the stairs. “One of these days, Pieck, one of these days.”

“You can keep trying all you want!” 

Light footsteps echo along the corridor until finally, Pieck's door squeaks closed. 

It’s only when her lungs begin to burn that Annie finally breathes. Cracking the door open, she peeks an eye outside. Empty. 

Descending the stairs into the kitchen, she can’t help but wonder if she just witnessed in secret, a new beginning.  

Then again, what does she know about new beginnings? For her, there had been only one, and it had happened when she was thirteen years old, on a hot afternoon spent digging into parched earth for some reason or the other, and a puny, frail boy had offered her a canister of water to drink.

In the end, Annie had understood that the world didn’t mean much if it wasn’t home to anyone she loved. Conscious decisions and choices aside, it had been some stroke of luck and the pull of several heartstrings that brought her new beginning to this moment, after all – a moment where she makes sure the kitchen too, is deserted, drags a chair to the counter, climbs up, and reaches into the overhead cabinet – the puny, frail boy was now a man, and the canister of water now a jar of cocoa. 

“Miss Leonhardt! Oh, I’m so sorry!” Hanna bursts into the kitchen half an hour later carrying a large basket piled high with freshly laundered clothes. Annie looks up from her perch on a corner chair around the dining table where she’s been deeply engrossed in a crossword puzzle. “Would you mind putting these away today? I have to be somewhere urgently.”

“Sure,” Annie takes the basket from her. “Is this everyone’s?”

“Yes,” Hanna’s already hurrying out of the kitchen. “It’s all mixed up. So sorry, and thank you!”

Annie sifts through the sweet smelling linens and cottons to first pull out her own clothes and set them aside. The only other articles of women’s clothing belong to Pieck, so she takes them out too, leaving behind both sets on the dining table to carry the basket, still full with men’s clothes, upstairs to the first floor. 

“Oi.” She knocks on Reiner’s door, and receives no answer. Grumbling, she pushes the door open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Annie’s eyes widen in alarm first and then irritation, when she realises he’s crying. 

“Reiner,” She says sternly. “Stop that.”

He looks up at her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry Annie. It’s just… one of those days,” He attempts to wipe off the tear stains running down his cheeks. 

She shifts from one foot to another uncomfortably, before deciding to thrust the basket into his lap. “Take out what belongs to you. And don’t drop your snot all over it.”

Reiner complies obediently, sniffling now and then as he pulls out some shirts and pants that are his. She watches his face throughout this exercise with folded arms, feeling annoyance building up inside her. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me before I break your limbs.”

“It’s nothing Annie.”

“Reiner.”

He sighs in defeat. “Just… summer is ending.”

Oh. That.

“You remember, don’t you?” He smiles sadly. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

No way she would ever forget that. Annie looks down at the floor, feeling bitter remorse rise up her throat.

“Put it out of your mind,” Reiner says. “For now. There’s still some time.”

"Put it out of my mind, so you can keep it in yours?"

He doesn't nod, but he doesn't have to. She knows she’s right. 

"Do either of us deserve that luxury?"

"Annie, please," He pleads. "Right now you deserve it. Just… there's still some time, and I want you to spend it differently." 

For once, she considers heeding his words with voluntary deference, because she doesn’t have the energy, nor the desire to put herself through the wringer right now. 

“Is that a request? Or an order?”

Reiner’s eyes are sad. “An order. The last one.”

Annie purses her lips and nods curtly. An order is an order. This is one she doesn’t have many complaints about following. And if he wants to repent this way for her suffering by his hands, she'll grant him that. When summer ends, she'll be weeping with him after all, but for now: There’s still some time.  

With hesitation, she reaches for a handkerchief folded on his dresser table. Reiner squawks in pain when she swipes it under his nose with too much force. 

“Go outside and watch the butterflies or something.” She says, and it comes out unintentionally gruff. 

He blinks with surprise before an amused, wet chuckle breaks loose from his throat. “Butterflies? I doubt there would be any out right now.”

“Bats, then. Get out of the room,” Annie’s already leaving the room with the basket. “It’s depressing. You’re depressing.”

Jean isn’t in his room, so she moves onto Connie’s. 

“Hey,” She kicks his door open with her foot. He’s reading magazines lying on the centre of the bed. “Take what’s yours. And Jean’s too, he’s not his room.”

Connie shakes out the clothes that belong to him and throws them unceremoniously on his bed. The ones that belong to Jean land ungracefully on the back of a chair. 

“Thanks a lot.”

Annie picks up the basket, and pauses by his door. “By the way, I’m out of sugar buns.”

He looks at her, wide eyed and flabbergasted, before throwing his hands up in dismay. “Seriously? Now? The sun’s gone down.”

“But I’m out of sugar buns,” She repeats coolly. “Better run if you want to make it before the bakeries close.”

“Annie,” He whines, setting his hands on his hips. 

“Guess I’ll just ask him about it then.”

“Alright, alright! I’ll go get you the damn buns,” Connie cries, shoving his money into his pocket. “Just don’t ever tell him I told you that, he’ll sentence me to death.”

Annie watches him run along the corridor at lightning speed, suppressing a smile when he flies down the stairs, two at a time. All jokes aside, it still shocks her to the bone to think of what could’ve nearly never been, and only the basket tucked under her arm with Armin’s clothes gives her some much needed consolation that the present moment, is not a nightmare where he doesn’t exist, but one where he definitely lives, breathes, and laughs.

With a deep sigh of relief and longing, she enters his room, which is dark and quiet, and welcomes her back with a comfort she’s never felt in her own room upstairs.

The basket goes on his bed, and she picks up his neatly folded shirts and trousers. The wooden door of his cupboard is washed in the dim light from the streetlamp outside, and she pulls it open with her foot. Unsurprisingly, all his clothes are arranged by colour and type, and Annie can’t help a smile this time. How very like him. Shirts and pants on either end of the most prominent shelf. Undershirts and boxers and briefs on the shelf below. A couple of sweaters on the shelf above, for when the colder months set in. Carefully and gently, Annie arranges the laundered clothes, paying close attention to the way Armin keeps the collars pressed, the sleeves tucked into neat squares, and the colours fading from dark to light.

And then, there, at the bottom most shelf, tucked into the shadows where the light never reaches, are his ODM gear, his Survey Corps cloak, and his blue shirt that he’d worn into the last battle. 

Does he not intend to use it anymore? Her fingers long to feel the fabric once again. 

But then the door opens, and the light clicks on. “Annie?” Armin smiles, his face bright with an elation she’s instantly curious to decode. “Why are you standing in the dark?”

“Welcome back,” She replies, straightening. “I was just putting away your clothes. The… laundry,” She gestures vaguely at the basket lying crooked on the bed. 

He nods, eyes drifting from the basket back to Annie, and he tilts his head on the doorframe with a lazy smile. “You know, I could get used to this.”

“To what?” Annie shuts the door of the cupboard.

“Walking into my room and seeing you here.”

She blushes under his intense stare. He almost makes it sound as if she’s taking permanent residence here on purpose . 

She wouldn't entirely mind doing that. 

“I love it though,” His smile widens, and she scowls to hide how much she loves it too. 

Armin shuts the door behind him and crosses to the bathroom in buoyant strides before she can even ask where he’s been all day. Annie leans against the cupboard, watching him unbutton his sleeve cuffs and roll them up at the washbasin. “I was at the lake with Asa,” He says, eyes closed as he washes his face. “He doesn’t know how to read or write, so I agreed to teach him.”

“He really likes you,” She says, wondering if they aren’t going to talk about the elephant in the room – Kári and the race.

“Hm,” He lathers soap between wet hands and pokes his head out to flash her a curious look. “But you and Aoife though. You never told me about that. Are you two good friends?”

Annie chews her lip as he swipes the suds onto his face, fiercely rubbing into every spot he can get. “Not good friends. I just… bump into her on my walks.” Water runs from the tap, then splashes into his face.

“She seems quite fond of you.” He towels off and approaches her with his arms wide open. 

“I don’t know about that.”

“It’s true,” He hums, gathering her into a hug. “And I‘m also very, very fond of you.”

That makes her laugh. “You’re in high spirits.”

“I guess I’m just,” He squeezes her so tight she squeaks. “Feeling happy.” His words fan a soft breath into her hair, warming her scalp. Annie hugs him back just as tight, feeling the residual drops of water from his hair moistening the tip of her nose. 

"What happened between you and that asshole this morning?"

"Nothing happened."

She frowns into him. "You took off running and came back walking. Something happened."

He laughs quietly into her hair. "I swear, nothing happened."

Annie pulls away from his shoulder with suspicion directed at his suddenly all-too straight face. "You said something to him didn't you?"

Armin can’t help the slow grin now.

"You manipulated him,” She says, feeling certain of it. “Deceived him."

"Nothing of the sort."

"Liar,” She narrows her eyes. “You're lying through your teeth."

He shakes his head innocently. "I'm not. It was all peaceful."

"I don't believe you."

"Okay,” Armin pretends to think hard. “I'll tell you if you tell me what was in Mikasa's letter that got you so flustered."

She glares, feeling colour rush into her cheeks on recalling those words. Dear Annie, I wanted to tell you…

"... I can't tell you that."

"Then I guess we're keeping our secrets," He sighs with mock-disappointment.

Annie slumps backwards, his clasped fingers at the base of her spine keeping her from feeling the cupboard flush against her back. She studies his eyes that twinkling with mischief and joy, remembering the single step he’d taken faster across the finish line this morning.

"But... you won."

At this, Armin smiles simply with a shrug of his shoulders. "I didn't win. I just... took a step forward."

"You won."

"I didn't."

"You did,” She jabs a finger into his shoulder. “Stop playing nice. You won, and you know you did too."

Another slow, beautiful grin pulls his lips apart, and he leans down to press his forehead with hers.

"Did I?"

"Yeah," Annie meets curious blue eyes, enjoying very much the less than two inches of space between their lips. It can get smaller, she thinks. 

"So... Do I get a reward?" He teases.

Oh no, no, no. She purses her lips before he can steal a kiss. "Not unless you tell me what you said to the asshole."

"But I won and you won't give me a reward?” His eyebrows slant in disappointment. “So cruel of you."

"Just tell me," She jabs another finger, this time into his chest, but he walks her back the remaining inch or so of space between the heels of her feet and the cupboard, pressing her up hard against the wooden surface. It’s so annoying, really, how easily her heartbeat picks up speed when he’s being such a little shit.

"Then tell me what Mikasa said,” Armin whispers, slanting his head for a kiss she avoids. 

Annie glares again. "You tell me first."

"Are we having our first fight?" His quiet laugh warms the skin of her jaw before she slaps her hand over his mouth.

"Maybe," Which does she like more? That Armin, stammering and blushing and thinking over it a hundred times before touching her, or this Armin, who’s such a devilish little fucker she can barely catch a breath? How did both even come to inhabit a single body? 

"Really,” He wonders aloud, voice muffling into her palm, sounding all too serious. "How are we going to make up now?"

Then again, this duality was what got her into so much trouble in the first place. 

"Okay,” Armin lets her go, stepping back in the direction of his bed. “I’ve got it."

A bemused chuckle escapes her mouth. "Got what?"

What she can see of his face forms a playful grin as he tugs the bed-sheets and covers off his bed and throws them on the floor. Two pillows soon follow.

Annie stares, now thoroughly bewildered. "What are you doing?" Armin kneels on the floor, smoothing out the sheets, arranging the pillows and throwing aside the covers before he rises to his feet.

"The bed creaks," He says with a sweet smile. "And we have to make up, don't we?" 

Fucker. 

When did all of this start?

Messy tendrils of hair flying in the summer breeze. In the bright backdrop of the cloudy sky, he can’t see her very well. 

“Armin,” The voice, as clear and resonant as a bell, calls his name. “Don’t forget what we said, okay?”

He’s lost track of how long he’s been running. The meadows had been a breeze to cross, but he hadn’t been prepared for what came after. The long-route along the North to the other side of the lake keeps throwing one surprise at him after another – from gullies to gorges, and rocky plains to wooded forests. That one low branch of an old tree two minutes ago would’ve lopped his head off clean had he not ducked in time. Now, he weaves between the thickly wooded sides of a ravine.

This part is innately familiar to him. Flitting between buildings, between trees. An anchor fired there, another reeled back from here. Shifting body weight from foot to foot to change direction, relying on the strength of the wires and longevity of gas to keep going, flying through the air, over the roofs, between the trees, until finally, into the bones of his best friend’s titanous back. 

Except now, he’s only running, feet skipping and landing from rock to fallen branch, from muddy trail to grassy undergrowth. The wind in his hair, kissing his exposed forehead and tickling his clothes – feels like the cool hands of an old friend. Nostalgia hits him strong, taking him back to when the harnesses dug into every inch of muscle, tightening into his shoulders and calves when he fired his anchor upwards. Novelty hits him with soft marvel, in the respect that there are no napes to slice with his blades, and no enemies with guns shooting at him.

No, there is one enemy and it lives within the cavity of his rib-cage. 

Has it been twenty minutes now? Armin looks at the sky through the canopies – it’s cloudy, but still bright. Dry leaves swirl under his sprinting pace. The woods give way to a hilly, rock-studded trail and he keeps to the faintly trodden path that slopes upward in a steep incline before dropping sharply into the pine forest. 

There’s a memory he hasn’t thought of in a long time now. 

A memory from under an old pine tree ten years ago.

As Armin slips down the descent, littered with fallen leaves likely a century old, he hears the distant roar of powerful water, a low, steady thrum beneath his feet. He thinks of what the others are doing back in the Village, he thinks of Annie, he thinks of the void. 

When did all of this start? Had he been born this way, had this enemy of hatred existed inside him right from infancy? Or had it come to infest his body later? He doesn’t remember anything of his life from younger than eight years old. Perhaps he would never find out the story behind the inception of it all, but that’s not why he’s here with his heart burning adrenaline – he’s here to mark the beginning of the end.

When the cool darkness of the forest towers over his head, it occurs to him: hadn’t Squad Leader Mike Zacharias once told him that the sense of smell was so powerful, it could take you back decades in time?

That’s his last thought as the heady scent of pines hits him square in the face and he goes back to that summer morning, under the pine tree behind his old house.

“... Are you listening? I’m telling you that we need more propane.”

“I think what we have is fine, dear.”

The grass beneath them ripples in violent waves by the strong breeze that almost tears the papers out of his father’s hands.

“Bad idea to bring these out here,” He mutters, holding them firmly in his ink splotched fingers. “I haven’t made copies of these blueprints.”

His mother looks at him with mild annoyance wrinkling her nose. On her cheek is a smear of machine oil she doesn’t seem to be aware of as she makes and scratches out calculations on a dog-eared notebook set on her knee. “I’ve done the numbers over and over. We need more propane. What if we end up staying longer out there?”

Armin watches his parents argue politely under the shade of the pine tree where he also lounges on his back. The sky is overcast, and he idly observes the dark outlines of large clouds rushing by. Saturday mornings were always spent under this tree, snacking on bread and barley crackers. His mother called it a time-out from their mechanic garage, his father called it a brainstorming session, and Armin? He called it a picnic with his parents. 

He always looked forward to these mornings. He’d eat one too many crackers, drink one too many glasses of milk, and then doze off on his father’s lap, lulled into a delicious sleep by the sounds of his father’s mellow voice and his mother’s tinkling laughter ringing with the rustling of pine needles. When he’d finally wake up, his mother would have her cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his heart beat. She would grin at him and tickle his sides afterwards, making him shriek with joy until his stomach hurt. 

Today however, he’s subdued and firmly avoids exposing his right cheek to his mother, wary of her sharp eyes that look anything but, with their drooping eyelids and long eyelashes. 

“Dear, take a look at this,” His father leans forward from where he’s propped against the trunk of the tree. “I’m not sure about this area,” His pointer finger draws a triangle across a severely thumbed and worn out sheet of paper. “Do we need to make this stronger?”

“Hmm,” His mother frowns in concentration, poring over the blueprint. “Let’s see now.”

Armin drowns out the rest, fiddling with a button on his cardigan. They’ve been busy for weeks now, making a hot-air balloon to travel beyond the walls. He wasn’t supposed to find out what it was for, but he had, one night, after his father had fallen asleep with his mother in his arms on the couch before the fireplace. Nobody went beyond the walls. There were titans there.

But his parents were ready to go, leaving him behind.

“And what’s got you so quiet today?” His mother’s voice suddenly whispers into his left ear, startling him out of his thoughts. “No curious questions for papa this time?”

He does have one. 

Why aren’t you taking me with you?

Instead, Armin turns his head away, to the right, feeling the grass prick into the cheek he hides from his mother.

“Oh?” His father sounds surprised. “What’s up?”

“Let me see your face,” His mother, always so stubborn and insistent at the most inconvenient of times, takes his face within her calloused, but warm palms and turns his head to meet her gaze. 

She gasps. “What happened to your cheek?!”

Her hazel brown eyes, and his father’s blue eyes swim before his vision that’s blurring with shame, to peer at the latest; the most recent blot on his dignity – an ugly red bruise blooming large under his cheekbone.

“Who did this?” His mother’s face contorts in concern.

Armin averts his eyes. “The market boys.”

“Why?”

In hindsight, he realises he couldn’t have relied on the lengths of his hair to hide it for very long. “They started arguing with me. And I said that argument for the sake of argument would never result in a proper resolution,” He mumbles, and his father erupts in laughter.

His mother winces, fixing his father with a mild frown. “Can you please not teach him such big words? He’s only nine.”

“I’m not teaching him anything, dear,” His father says between his fits of laughter. “Have you seen how he eats his way through my old books?”

Armin’s face falls with humiliation as his mother gently combs through his long strands of hair. “Eren and Mikasa… beat them up. They had to protect me. Again.”

His father hums. “You have two very good friends then.”

“No!” Armin protests, sitting up from his mother’s caresses. “They’re always protecting me, and I can’t… I can’t protect them.”

“Why not?” Another strong breeze blows through, and his father digs the heels of his palms into the blueprints to keep them from fluttering away.

“Because I’m not strong, like them.”

“Why do you have to be strong like them? I bet no eight year old boy in Shiganshina knows what ‘resolution’ means. You probably scared them with that alone.”

His mother chuckles, her gentle fingers smelling of grease, metal and graphite, once again combing through his hair and drawing him close to her. It doesn’t particularly reassure him very much. He’d give anything to be bigger, better, stronger. 

“Words can’t… protect anybody.”

“That’s not true,” His mother sets her chin on the crown of his head. “Words are extremely powerful. You can make or break someone with them.”

He picks at the grass under his knees, feeling miserable.

“Okay, come here,” His mother circles her arms around his waist and pulls him onto her lap with a loud groan that makes his father smile. “You’re getting heavy! I can’t do this anymore.” 

“But I’m not getting any taller,” He mutters. Eren had grown two whole centimetres since spring, and Mikasa was even taller. He was still the shortest of the bunch, the smallest of the trio; a fact that the market boys took special interest in using against him to inflict some damage. 

“You’ll get taller in due time, and even if there are people taller than you, that’s okay,” His mother says. “One day you’ll meet a girl you’ll fall in love with, and she’ll think you’re the tallest person in the world.”

“This isn’t about that!” Armin blushes. His parents liked to do this a lot and he’s never understood why. 

“Things like strength and height don’t matter, Armin,” His father tells him. “Just don’t get a beer belly like me. I had so much trouble convincing your mother to marry me with this,” He pats his stomach with a hearty laugh.

Armin hangs his head, feeling his bruise throb dully in the breeze that whips his hair across his cheek.

“I just want to protect my friends.”

His father leans forward to peer into his face. “Of course you can, and you will. But you don’t have to be like someone else for that, now do you?”

“Look,” His mother points ahead, at their little house. “Our roof is red in colour, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the little mailbox?”

“Red.”

“And there, those flowers?”

“Red,” Armin says, puzzled at where his mother is going with this.

“They’re all red,” She tells him. “But they’re all different. Important in their own ways.”

Armin turns sideways, looking into his mother’s bright and kind hazel eyes. 

“There’s different kinds of strengths. They're all important. You’ll find yours one day and be really proud of it. What matters is this,” She places her hand on his heart. “In here, you stay true to yourself.” She pats the spot gently. “There will be so many people who may be taller than you, stronger than you. But you should try to live a life where you can say, at the end – I was true to myself.”

He holds her gaze, softly breathing in the scent of the large pine above their heads.

“And whenever you feel sad again, remember this, and draw it in, day by day, bit by bit, inch by inch.”

His father envelops them both in a firm hug and it’s the last one they have as a family. 

“Dear, I’ve fallen in love with you all over again,” His father sighs, placing a loud kiss on his mother’s mouth. “You’re so smart.”

“Our son will grow into a fine young man, I’m sure,” His mother squeezes him from the back. 

Under another wind of change, his parents continue poring over their blueprints, and lying on the grass between the both of them, Armin eventually does end up falling asleep. When he wakes, his heart is racing and his breaths come short. His mother’s got an ear on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and with a warning wiggle of her fingers, starts tickling his sides until he’s struggling to squirm out of his father’s firm grip, shrieking with laughter that the breeze carries high into the skies. 

When her hands retreat and his giggles die down, he squints upwards, at his mother’s face. 

Messy tendrils of hair flying in the summer breeze. In the bright backdrop of the cloudy sky, he can’t see her very well. 

“Armin,” Her voice, as clear and resonant as a bell, calls his name. “Don’t forget what we said, okay?”

The next Saturday, his parents left to see the world. 

And they never came back for another picnic. 

That’s it, then, isn’t it? 

Armin comes to a stop in the middle of the pine forest, breathless and panting. Needles and cones crunch below his shoes. 

To draw it in, day by day, bit by bit, inch by inch.

He laughs, hands on his hips, feeling light. 

Until one day, it feels second nature to be happy with myself. 

He wipes sweat off his brows, and listens to the roar of the waterfalls, very close by now. 

Life had moved very fast, and grown infinitely complicated, after that. He learned to skip stones to deal with his grief. He lost his town. He almost lost Eren and Mikasa by a hair’s width. He lost his grandfather. He joined the military. He saw a girl. He trained until his nose bled. He met that girl. He ran in the rain and in the snow. He watched Eren rise from a titan’s carcass. He saluted the wings of freedom before a bonfire. He wore the wings of freedom on white. He parted ways with that girl. He lost his comrades. He shot a bullet into someone. He went back home. He bid goodbye to his dreams. He died. He lived. He saw the sea. He longed to see that girl. He turned into a monster and destroyed foreign ships on the coast. He watched Eren change. He went back to see the girl. He cried with Mikasa. He spoke to the girl. He lost Eren. He wore the wings of freedom on black. He destroyed a port and its people. He watched the walls crumble. He met the girl again. He watched his friends die. He boarded a ship to the end of the world. He spoke to the girl. He watched his Commander die. He parted ways with that girl. He fought a battle. He watched himself, immobile. He landed in the arms of the girl. He lost Eren, for good. He cried and cried and cried. He watched Mikasa leave. He slept in cold tents and worked under hot days. He kissed the girl. He made it to a country where a long life is promised. 

Draw it in, day by day, bit by bit, inch by inch.  

He stares at the cloudy sky through the pointy tips of the pines. 

“Sorry, mom,” He whispers, watching the dark outlines of large clouds rushing by. “I did end up forgetting, after all.”

At least he knows where and how to start, now. 

Movement from the far end opposite catches his eye. It’s Kári, approaching, not looking entirely surprised to see him here.

“Nice to see you here already, Commander!” He grins. “Though my route was longer by fifteen minutes, I’ve caught up to you. How would you assess that by military standards? Good? Great?”

Ah. There's still this guy left to sort out. 

Armin smiles at him as he slows to a stop, several feet away. 

“Come on, Kári,” He says. “Let's have a little talk."

Clearly looking elated, Kári makes no move to come closer, choosing to lean against a bare pine tree devoid of needles.

"What about?"

"Tell me. Why are you so interested in Annie?"

He shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets. "She’s beautiful. And strong. She’s aloof and cold and mysterious, I just… want to find out what’s under that veil."

Armin fixes him with a long and steady gaze. Interest. Intrigue. Curiosity. He understands these things. They weren’t wrong. But to see her as a medal, as her father did, as Marley did… he would never accept that, no matter the harmless ignorance behind it. 

"What did you have in mind? That if you won this race, she'll just... waltz off with you? Annie isn't a prize to be won."

Kári opens his mouth to say something, but Armin continues. 

"She's not a trophy."

Kári laughs. “So you kissed her hand, big deal. At least she'll want to be with a man who can proudly call her his."

"Did you ask her what she wants?" Armin cocks his head. “Did you talk to her?”

Kári simply smiles, his amusement slowly wearing off.

"You didn't," Armin states evenly. “But I understand. You want something that seems rare.”

"And you're different?” He taunts. “You didn't want her for the same reason?"

Armin’s thought about that plenty of times, and he could easily spend another week recalling how his feelings were born; over sunrises and sunsets, over curfew calls and penalty runs, over cleaning duties and stable visits shared with a girl who didn’t mind him talking, a girl who once gave him a rare, pretty smile he’d never managed to forget about. A girl who did unforgivable things he’d forgiven her for doing. So he doesn’t have to prove to anybody the sincerity of his heart and of his feelings. Whatever he may or may not know, he does know with conviction that he’s never once sought Annie out as an item to be bought off a market. A longing, yes. An ache, a yearning, a desire to love her, a need to see her smile, yes to all of that.

But not a conquest. 

Conscious decisions and choices aside, it had been some form of cruel luck and the pull of several heartstrings that set it all into motion, after all.

He saw a girl. He met Annie Leonhardt. He kissed Annie. 

Draw it in…

He takes a deep breath. "I have eight years of history with her. That's eight years you know nothing of, and eight years you can't take away from me no matter what you do."

"So why did you agree to this race?"

Armin smiles at him again. "For myself. And it’s helped, really. I guess I have you to thank for that, don’t I?” 

Kári studies him, no longer as amused. Armin meets his hard green eyes without flinching, because behind that void in his heart, there is another conviction, however ironic it may be. 

… day by day…

"Thing is, Kári, you've been thinking you're my competition. You're not. You never have been, never will be. Trust me, I don't have a rival greater than myself, and as such, you’ll understand when I say I never ran this course against you.”

“Are you saying you’ve won?” Kári’s voice carries a hint of sarcasm.

…bit by bit... 

“Not at all. It’s not a race anymore, is it?”

You're not even a consideration, Armin thinks as he turns on his heel and heads out of the forest. Pine needles and cones crunch and crack under his shoes until he emerges into the sunlight from the cool darkness. But Kári remains standing where he is, deep inside the forest, so Armin throws him a look over his shoulder. 

… inch by inch.

“Well? Are you coming?” 

And he walks to the finish line, Kári in tow.

Annie blinks at the ceiling, feeling her eyelashes stick to each other with sleep. She yawns and stretches her limbs on the soft sheets only to curl into a wince immediately after – her jaws hurt, her thighs burn, her legs feel like jelly. Her entire body feels sore and limp and also heavy with blissed out tiredness. They are sensations she doesn’t dislike at all.

She's going to have to find ways to get into more fights with him.

With a deep inhale, she turns her head sideways on the pillow where Armin is fast asleep with his back to her. The two of them are still on the floor, where it had been far too comfortable to cuddle afterwards, leaving no desire to move back to the bed. Her groggy, half-lidded eyes take in the smooth nape of his neck atop his bare back. His hair is severely tousled, locks of soft blond pulled every which way – half of it by the subconscious hands of sleep, half of it by her own, very human, hands. New trails of red scratches feather across the sides of his spine and she groans quietly with a blush. Soreness in her limbs aside, Annie’s sure there’s not a single mark on her body. 

Pulling air into her lungs when his shoulders rise, and exhaling when his shoulders fall, she’s on the very edge of dozing off once again, ready to fall into the comforting darkness, when her eyes land on the little clock on his dresser. It says five in the morning. 

Oh, fuck. She’s late. Annie sits up too fast, and almost topples backwards when dizziness crashes into her head. With a hand on her temple, and another braced on the floor inches from her knee, she slowly gets up and accidentally yanks the covers off Armin. 

“Mh…” He groans, stirring, and she curses. “Annie…?”

“Sorry,” She mutters, looking for her clothes strewn all around. “Go back to sleep.”

Armin rolls onto his back, looking at her through puffy eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Walk,” Annie’s fastening the hooks of her bra, searching for her underwear next. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Ugh,” He groans again, rubbing his palms over his face to try and wake himself up. “Just sleep in for today. Hm?”

A delicious invitation, she thinks as she slides the underwear up her thighs. Why not? It’s easy, throw off all the pieces of clothing back to the floor and snuggle into the warm space between his arms. 

But what would that say about her to Aoife? It would say she was tardy. Someone who wasn’t reliable, someone unstable. Someone who couldn’t keep promises.

So, “No. I… have to go,” She says, her voice muffling as she pulls her shirt over her head. Armin watches her drowsily when she stands weakly on highly unsteady legs to step into her pants. He flashes her a sleepy pout that makes her chuckle.

“See you at breakfast,” He whispers when she leans over to give him a kiss. 

“Mhmm. See you,” And then Annie’s combing her hair up into her usual knot, hurrying into his bathroom to splash water into her face, and nearly knocking into his drying stand with a loud clatter on her way out. 

Her only thought when she rushes out of the house and into the cool morning atmosphere is that for the first time in her entire existence, she’s excited to go back to her childhood, only because this time, it’s under the waterfalls and much kinder. 

“Annie,” He croaks softly, just as the door clicks shut. “Wait, you dropped something.”

Armin yawns into the darkness, feeling the lack of sleep weigh into every bone and muscle in his body. They really shouldn’t have stayed up so late. But it was his fault, and then her fault, so when he extends his arm across Annie’s space beside him, now empty, but still retaining her warmth, he savours the burn in his upper arms with a stupid, sleepy smile. 

“Annie,” He calls again softly, but she’s already gone. With a grunt, he extends his arm further and picks up the little red tube that fell out of her pocket when she nearly sent his furniture flying. 

His vision is still blurry when he turns it over in his hands. Realisation that it’s her lipstick comes rather sluggishly and only in fragmented thoughts. Though he wonders somewhere at the back of his mind why she keeps carrying it around, the comfortable heat under the sheets where his legs take refuge beckons him back into the inviting darkness that two more hours of slumber promises.

I’ll give it back to her in the morning. Armin shoves it under his pillow and goes back to sleep.

Chapter Text

The air is heavy with silence. Pieck’s toast sits between her fingers, the jam to be spread across it long forgotten. Breakfast this morning is a difficult affair.

“So I was thinking we could go tomorrow,” Armin says gently, putting down the butter knife. “To the Highlands.”

Connie is the first to speak after a heavy swallow. “I’m in. I know Sasha’s grave is back on Paradis but… I’d like her to be here too. I think she’d like this place, with its beauty and all,” He pauses for a sharp inhale. “Actually, I’d… like her to be everywhere we go. So she can–” His voice cracks and he blinks back tears. “So she can see it all.” 

Armin nods slowly in understanding before his eyes land on the next person around the table. “Jean?”

“Hm,” Is all he says at first, his eyes fixed firmly on the omelette folded into a half moon on his plate. 

“You don’t have to, if you’d rather not.”

“No,” He sighs. “It’s just… Marco was cremated.”

“I know.” 

“He didn’t have a grave.”

“I know,” Armin repeats softly, still looking at Jean who avoids his eyes. “I also know that you visited that communal funeral pyre in Trost whenever you could. On our days off and when we had time to spare.”

Jean’s mouth curls downward in an effort to conceal his sorrow, and it's a long few minutes before he eventually nods. “Mmm. I– yeah. Alright. He might… He might like to see this place too. Like Sasha.” 

Connie lays a comforting hand on Jean’s shoulder, and Armin moves on to the next person. “Pieck?”

Her voice lacks any hesitance. “Why graves? They’ll be empty, so why do you want to do this? And why here?”

“Of course they’ll be empty,” He tells her. “But sometimes, not having a place to go where you can… talk to the dead and pour out your grief is– it’s hard. And for the three of us,” He gestures at himself, Connie and Jean. “There’s no going back home for a long time.”

She nods slowly. “Who do you want to bury?”

“Commander Hange,” His nose stings. 

Pieck glances out of the window through which the morning chatter of the village carries into the kitchen. “You know, my father used to tell me that as long as you kept the memories of a loved one in your heart, it didn’t really matter whether they were buried or cremated.”

Armin looks down at his toast, only half eaten. 

“But that’s not always true,” She sighs. “I wanted to have a proper funeral for Udo and Zofia, but I wasn’t allowed to stay back for it. In the end I don’t know if they were buried or cremated. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were given neither, and just… thrown into a ditch or a gutter. You know… Eldian scum,” She shrugs sadly. “I think knowing would’ve given me some closure though.”

He returns her slight smile when she looks back at him again. “Alright.”

The entire table’s attention then shifts to the two people left sitting very still, their faces pale, their tense bodies drowning with shame and regret.

“Annie? Reine–"

"I can't do it," Reiner's head drops into his hands where the heels of his palms dig into his eyes. "I–I can't. I'm sorry."

When nobody says anything for a while, he continues in a thick, hoarse voice. 

"I don't deserve to bury anybody. And I definitely don't deserve to be anywhere near–" His voice hitches in his throat and he swallows with difficulty. "Anywhere near Marco's grave."